
Beckley-Cardy Company 

'Publishers Chicago 

















Children’s Comedies 
and 

Comic Recitations 


BY 

HOBERT 0. BOGGS 

Author of 

FUNNY PLAYS FOR HAPPY DAYS 
COMIC PLAYS AND DIALOGUES 



BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 
CHICAGO 





PNkizo 
A s £ gI Z 


Copyright, 1929, by 
BECKLEY-CAEDY COMPANY 



Printed in the United States of America 

DEC 23 1929 © Cl * A 31618 


CONTENTS 

CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 

PAGE 

A Lesson prom an Humble Source. 5 

Three hoys 

Abe Lincoln's Kindness. 7 

Two hoys 

Five Prim Little Patriots. 9 

Five girls 

The Quiz... 14 

Two hoys, two girls 

Hero Worshipers. 18 

Three hoys 

Willie Went and Got Lost.. 23 

Three hoys, two girls 

The Eight of Boyhood. 28 

Seven hoys 

True Love's Course. 35 

Two hoys 

Only an Only Child. 42 

Two hoys, One girl 

The Six S's Organize. 52 

Six hoys 

The Six S's Hold a Session. 59 

Six hoys 

The Six S's in Action. 67 

Any number 

The Six S's Admit Ferdie. 81 

Seven hoys 

Lemuel Wouldn't Lie. 94 

Two hoys, two girls 

The Heroes of the Haunted House. 99 

Eight hoys 

Travel Troubles. 107 

Two hoys 


3 


















4 


CONTENTS 


COMIC RECITATIONS 

PAGE 

Tastes. HI 

Uncle Pudge . HI 

A Pertinent Question. HI 

Sweepin ’ Out.‘ . HI 

A Rainy Bay. H2 

Accounting for My Lack of Taste. 112 

The Whooping Cough. 113 

Teacher’s Pet. 113 

When Pop Shaves. Ill 

A Bug Battle. 115 

Did You?. 117 

Why Is It ?. 118 

A Change of Habits.’• 119 

Rustic Courtship. 120 

My Brother’s Sweetie. 122 

Sizin’ Up the Crowd. 123 

Pa’s.:. 124 

A Complaint. 125 

Steve on the Telephone. 126 





















CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


A LESSON FROM AN HUMBLE SOURCE 

Characters 

Thomas Jefferson 
Tom, his grandson 
CiESAR, a black servant 

Scene: In front of Monticello 

Costumes 

Colonial for greater effect. Regular if more convenient. 

Discovered: Thomas Jefferson and Tom, seated in porch 
chairs. Jefferson appears as quite an old man. 

Tom. Grandfather Jefferson, you promised me that you 
would tell me something this morning with a lesson to it. 
Jefferson. So I did, so I did. Now let’s see what I can 
tell you that I have not already used to point some lesson. 
Tom. Tell me something more about your own school days, 
Gran ’ther. I love to hear that. 

Jefferson. There might be very small chance of bringing 
out an object lesson from any of my own experiences, 
Tom. I prefer to put something before your attention 
this morning which will make a permanent and lasting 
impression upon your intellect. 

Caesar is seen passing through behind them. lie halts 
when he sees that the porch is occupied. 

Jefferson. All right, Caesar. Go right on across, if you 
had started across. 

CiESAR [bowing very low ]. Good mawnin’, Massa Jefferson 
an’ Young Marster Tom. 

Jefferson. Good morning to you, Caesar. I wish you good 
health for the day. 


5 


6 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Caesar [bowing and scraping]. Thankee, sah. Thankee. 

Exit Cjesar 

Tom. Grandfather, I am surprised that you waste so many 
words in greeting and conversing with a nigger. 

Jefferson. I am more surprised at you, my lad. I am 
surprised and ashamed that you did not speak to Caesar. 

Tom. I consider myself too good to speak to a nigger. 

Jefferson. The mere act of speaking to some one you 
know cannot degrade you, no matter how lowly or humble 
the one to whom you speak. Politeness is nothing more 
than pure kindness of heart and gentility. That is why 
I am surprised and ashamed that my grandson will allow 
a poor slave to be more polite than he. 

Tom. I had not thought of it in that light. You have given 
me a lesson which I expect to remember always. And I 
promise you, too, that you need never feel ashamed of me 
again for such a reason. I shall henceforth permit no one 
to be more polite to me than I am to them. 

Curtain 


ABE LINCOLN’S KINDNESS 

, Characters 

Abe as a lad of 12 years 
His Father 

Costumes 

Homespun (well worn khaki will suffice), brogans, coon- 
skin caps. The Father carries a long-barreled rifle in the 
crook of his arm. 

Scene : Out-of-doors. 

Enter Abe, closely followed by his Father 

Father [catching Abe’s shirt sleeve ]. Woa, Abe! Whar 
ye goin ’, boy ? Be ye turned aroun ’ ? 

Abe. Nope, I’m goin’ back down t’ th’ crick after Sniffles. 
Father. Whar’s Sniffles at ? 

Abe. On t ’other bank. 

Father. Whut’s he doin ’ thar, Abe ? 

Abe. He’s yelpin’ an’ snifflin’ as he usually does when 
anything gits wrong uv ’im. 

Father. Why, whut’s wrong uv ’im now? 

Abe. He’s skeered uv th ’ ice an ’ ’fraid t ’ cross on it. 
Father. Well, whut ye gonna be doin’ ’bout it? 

Abe. I gonna fetch ’im over. 

Father. Jest let ’im be, son. If he’s thet big uv a coward, 
he ain’t wuth havin’, nohow. 

Abe. But Pap, I want Sniffles. 

Father. Let ’im skin acrost on the ’ ice, then, or if it breaks 
with ’im, let ’im swim. He won’t never learn no younger. 
Abe. He won’t never tackle it, Pap. He’ll stay right thar 
an ’ starve. 

Father. Let ’im be, then. We gotta be driftin’ on. This 
ain ’t gittin ’ out uv Kaintuck inter Illinoy. 

7 


8 CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 

Abe. Go ahead an’ start up th’ oxen, then, Pap. I’ll 
fetch Sniffles acrost an’ keteh ye afore ye git fur. 

Father. How ye gonna Agger on gittin’ him acrost, Abe, 
ef th’ ice won’t hold ’im an’ he won’t swim where th 
oxen’s broke through ? # 

Abe. I reckin as how I c’n wade an’ tote ’im, can’t I ? 

Father. In that cold water? AVhy, boy, ye’re crazy! 

Abe. I’ll pull off my brogans an’ roll up my britches. It 
won’t hurt me none. Didn’t we both wade in ice water 
yesterday when th’ wagon got stuck? 

Father. But thet wuz nec’sary wadin’. This here ye’re 
perposin’ is plumb foolishness. That dog ain’t wuth th’ 
powder an’ lead t’ blow ’is brains out. I’d let ’im be 
where he is. 

Abe. But Pap, he’d freeze t ’ death or starve, ef we left ’im, 
like that, an’ he’s jest a pup. I’m gonna fetch ’im over, 
Pap, ef ye don’t keer. 

Father. Oh, well, ef ye ’re dead sot on it, I reckin as how 
it won’t be no skin offa my back fer ye t’ tote ’im over, so 
go to it. 

Abe. I’m ter’bly much obliged t’ ye, Pap, fer givin’ me 
yer lief. I ’ll be back in a few jerks uv a lam ’s tail. 

Exit Abe in the direction in which he first started 

Father. Lookit ’im now, rollin’ up ’is jeans an’ wadin’ 
inter thet icy water, all fer a little no-count, two-fer- 
nothin’ pup, t’ keep it from starvin’ or freezin’. I dunno 
which is th ’ softest uv thet boy, his heart or his head. 


curtain 


FIVE PRIM LITTLE PATRIOTS 

A Colonial Costume Play for Five Small Girls 
Characters 


Dolly Sarah 

Martha Jane 

Dorothy 

Scene: A front porch or lawn. A small table, five 

chairs, a teapot and five cups and saucers will be required 

as properties. 

Discovered: The little girls seated about the table. 

Martha [sipping her tea]. What topping fun to play we 
are grown up like this! 

Dolly. Oh yes, indeed. Mother always likes to have me 
play in this manner. She says it makes me practice the 
manners she teaches me and does me good. [Sips tea.] 

Dorothy. I am quite sure that it does all of us good, Dolly. 

Sarah. If w r e drink too much of this tea it will not be good 
for our complexions, though. At least that is what 
Mother tells me. 

Dolly. Never fear about this tea injuring your com¬ 
plexion, Sarah. Since King George and his Parliament— 

Jane [interrupting] . My, that is a frightfully big word! 

Sarah [chidingly]. Why do you interrupt, Jane? That 
is such a rude thing to do! 

Dorothy. What of King George and his Parley—what do 
you call it, Dolly ? Tell us about it. 

Dolly. Why, since King George and his Parliament placed 
the unjust tax on tea, we have had nothing boiled in our 
teapot but sassafras bark. 

Jane. My, that’s another big old word; but I know what 
it is. That is what we use for tea, too. Did I interrupt 
then, Sarah? 


9 


10 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Dolly. Not in the least, Jane. I don’t mind at all when 
my guests wish to speak. Mother tells me that that is the 
secret of being a social success, to be ready at all times to 
listen to another. 

Martha. We always have such delightful times at your 
parties, Dolly. 

Jane [sipping avidly]. And this tea is so delicious. It 
tastes quite like the genuine kind. 

Martha. It really does. Ours always seems to have a little 
touch of bitterness and drawiness, no matter how long it 
is boiled. 

Dolly. Of course all of you will understand that it was 
not inhospitable of me that I haven’t passed the sugar. 
We really have none to pass. 

Dorothy. No one has any since the Redcoats blockaded 
Boston. That is, no one except perhaps the Tories. 
Mother says that some of them have gained the good 
graces of the British by giving valuable information about 
their own neighbors, and thus manage to get plenty of 
everything. 

Sarah. I wish every bite that they get like that would turn 
to something bitter in their mouths. It would be bitter 
to me if I had to betray my countrymen to get it. 

Martha. Well, when Brother Richard was home last 
month on his furlough— 

Jane. What a funny word! 

Sarah [severely]. Jane. 

Jane. Oh, excuse me, I forgot. 

Martha. Yes, Jane. When Brother Richard was here on 
his furlough, he said that the Tories in Philadelphia 
found their sugar turned to salt when General Washing¬ 
ton retook the city. 

Jane. They deserved it, too. My Cousin Charles wrote to 
us that he was almost captured once because of some 
Tory tricks. 

Dorothy. Was he, really? 


FIVE PRIM LITTLE PATRIOTS 


11 


v Jane. Indeed so. He was being hotly pursued—whatever 
that is, by the British, and they cut down a large tree 
across his pathway, which his horse could not jump. 

Dorothy. Oh, how cowardly! 

Jane. He saved himself only by quickly dismounting and 
plunging into a thicket of underbrush. 

Sarah. That was mighty thoughtful of him. 

Dolly. One needs to be thoughtful now. Even we chil¬ 
dren should be thoughtful of all the things we may do for 
our country and its defenders. 

Jane. So we should, indeed. 

Martha. Mother ripped up all of her white dresses and 
petticoats to make bandages of them for our soldiers. 

Dorothy. My little crippled brother has given all of his 
leaden toys to be melted into bullets. 

Dolly. Oh, I think if General Washington had known 
about Edward’s toys, he would not have allowed them to 
be taken. 

Sarah. I am quite sure he would not. Poor Edward’s 
toys will make such a few bullets, and they gave him so 
much pleasure. 

Dorothy. But he smiled as he kissed each one good bye, 
and sent it away saying, “Go an’ till a Wedtoat and ven 
turn back.” 

Jane. Everyone seems to be doing something for the sake 
of our country’s freedom. Why, father told us of a min¬ 
ister who rushed out of his church to a near-by battle 
ground, with his arms full of psalm books, when the 
Americans had no more wadding for their guns. 

Martha. That was a noble thing to do. Some of our 
ministers are among the foremost fighters, too. 

Dolly. Seems to me, then, that we, too, could think of 
something to do for the cause, though it be only a little. 

Sarah. Brother Will is scarcely sixteen; but he has been 
carrying his gun side by side with Father more than three 
months. Robert is only fourteen and he begs Mother 
every day to let him go, too. 


12 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Dorothy. Mother says that the white hair of youth and 
the white hair of age can only be distinguished in the 
lines, by the bowed heads that carry the latter. 

Dolly. Can no one think of anything for us to do ? 

All assime a thoughtful attitude. No one makes a 
suggestion. 

Dolly. I know what we can do, if nothing more. We can 
sing our little song. 

Others [in urtison]. Let’s do. 

All stand in their places and sing to tune of the “Battle 
Hymn of the Republic.” 

WE ARE ONLY LITTLE CHILDREN 

We are only little children, but we’re patriots through 
and through! 

So we try each day to think of all the things that we 
can do 

To help our loyal soldiers who have fought for us and you 
To free us from a king. 

Chorus: 

We are only little children, we are only little children, 

We are only little children; but patriots through and 
through. 

It may be but little that we younger ones can start 
In the way of something helpful, that we all may do 
our part; 

But we’re ready and we’re willing from the bottom of 
each heart 
To do our little bit. 

At the close of the singing Dolly speaks to others again. 

Dolly. Now, take up your cups again. As hostess, I sug¬ 
gest we drink what is left of our sassafras tea in a toast. 


FIVE PRIM LITTLE PATRIOTS 


13 


Jane [regarding her cup], I have but very little left, 
myself. 

Sarah. Propose the toast, then, Dolly. 

Dorothy. We shall all join you in drinking it. 

Martha. Propose two toasts and ask your mother for some 
more tea, to drink the second. 

Dolly [lifting her cup]. Here is to the health of our sol¬ 
diers and their success in battle! 

All lift their cups and drink at the same time. 


CURTAIN 


THE QUIZ 

Characters 

Mrs. Crosslyn, the Inquisitor. 

Bud Xp,oth iqnorant and innocent . 

Sarah J 

Duncan, aped /our, wiser than his years . 

Scene: The Living-room of the Crosslyn Home. 

Discovered: The children at play . Ffder Mrs. Crosslyn. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Now listen to me, children. I want to 
know something. 

Bud. ’Smatter, Ma? Y’ stuck on a cross-word puzzle ? 

Sarah [guiltily]. Mother, I used only a little tiny bit of 
your powder and I put it right back where I found it. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Sarah, I have told you repeatedly to use 
your own powder, but— 

Sarah. I can’t use mine, when I have none, can I ? 

Mrs. Crosslyn. For a girl no older or larger than you, 
Sarah, I fail to see why you should use cosmetics. 

Bud. That’s what I say, Ma. I think it’s th ’ most senseless 
Brigham-Tory thing I ever saw, for little strips like her 
t’ use cow’s medics a-tall. 

Duncan. Muvver, don’t ’ooks t’ me like girleses’d want 
t’ use cow med’cine. 

Sarah. They don’t. Nobody but a half-baked kid like 
Bud would call toilet preparations any such name. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. The word is cosmetics, Buddy. 

Bud. Well, that’s almost what I said. Anyhow, little girls 
look better without than with th’ stuff. 

Sarah. Don’t pay any attention to him, Mother; he’s 
mashed on that silly looking Nora Pruett, who won’t use 
any powder or paint, so he thinks that it’s cute to make 
insinuations about folks who do. 

Bud. I don’t make incinerations about nobody. I say what 
I think in plain words ’cause if th’s anybody I hate it’s 
a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 


14 


THE QUIZ 


15 


Duncan. Vat’s me, too, Bud. I’m like you an’ Pa. I ain’t 
dot no use fer a wolf in sheep’s britches, neiver. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Well, we are getting aside from what I 
had started to say. I didn’t begin to ask about my 
powder. Didn’t even know that it had been molested. 

Bud [aside]. My gosh! I bet she’s missed them liver pills 
I used in my air rifle for B B’s. 

Sarah. Then you are not angry with me about the pow¬ 
der ? 

Mrs. Crosslyn. I think it would be better for you to ask 
me hereafter, when you wish to use my belongings. 

Sarah. Thank you, Mother. I shall not bother your toilet 
table again without asking. 

Duncan. Muvver, she don’t need de table ; but I bets y r 
she dits in your powder adain if hers dives out. 

Bud. Sis got in good with Ma by pleadin’ guilty in ad¬ 
vance ; but I ain’t gonna own up t ’ nothin ’. My name is 
Clams when it comes t ’ tellin ’ on m ’self. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Now, w T hat I want to know, is this [raises 
forefinger significantly] — 

Duncan. Why, Muvver, vat’s your finger. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Keep still, Duncan. 

Duncan. I never even budged, Muvver. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. I mean, shut your mouth and keep it shut. 

Bud. Aw, Ma, he’s got adenoids. He can ’t. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. That’s enough foolishness, now. While 
I was gone over to Mrs. Baker’s, something happened. I 
want to find out all about it. 

Sarah. Why don’t you go back over to Mrs. Baker’s, then, 
Mother ? She can usually tell you most anything that has 
happened near her. 

Bud. And she’s a reg’lar six-tube set fer pickin’ up items 
at long range, too. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. This happening took place in this house 
while I was out for the few minutes that I was gone. 

Bud [aside ]. That lets me out, then. It wuz yesterday 
mornin’ that 1 went down to th’ Baptis’ Convention an’ 
used them C C’s fer B B’s on them bald-headed D D’s. 


16 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Sarah [virtuously]. I haven’t been outside this room 
since you left, Mother. 

Bud [brazenly]. What’s happened, Ma? Don’t keep us in 
six-pence so long. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. While I was out, some one went into the 
pantry and picked off all the icing from the cake I had 
prepared for the meeting of the Ladies ’ Aid. 

Duncan. Muvver, what would a Lady Aig need wiv a 
cake? 

Mrs. Crosslyn [looking at Sarah and Bud]. Now, which 
of you did such a naughty thing ? 

Sarah. Mother, I didn’t. Upon my honor, I didn’t. 

Bud. Me neither, Ma. I don’t like icicles on cake nor any 
fluffy stuff on pie. I take mine straight without any doo¬ 
dads or thingum-bobs to it. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Now, children, don’t tell me a falsehood. 
No one has been here while I was away, has there ? 

Sarah. The ice man came in just after you left. 

Bud. I bet he’s th’ bird that got it. That’s about it, Ma. 
Th’ ice man took th’ ice pick an’ picked off th’ icing an’ 
called it ice cream. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Nonsense! No grown man would do any¬ 
thing like that. 

Duncan. Vat’s what you said vat time ve baf-tub was full 
of little fishes, too. But Pop vas ve one vat had ’em for 
fish-bait, wasn’t he ? 

Mrs. Crosslyn. But I don’t feel like the ice man did this. 
It is hardly plausible. 

Sarah. Why, Mother, you don’t mean to hold up for the 
ice man in order to accuse your own children, do you ? 

Mrs. Crosslyn. I believe in ‘‘rendering unto Caesar, that 
which is Caesar’s. ’ ’ 

Bud. Yeah, but Ma, Caesar’s been dead too long to lay this 
on him. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. I merely used the name of Caesar as a fig¬ 
ure of speech. I meant that I intended to mete out justice. 

Sarah. Why, I thought you said it was the cake that had 
been bothered. 


THE QUIZ 


17 


Bud. What’s happened to th’ meat, Ma ? 

Mrs. Crosslyn. The word “mete” that I used means to 
measure or dispense. In other words I meant to say that 
I was in favor of weighing out justice according to evi¬ 
dence and reason. 

Duncan. Well, Muvver, don’t it look as reas’nable vat a 
ice man would like cake as well as a little boy ? 

Mrs. Crosslyn. It hardly looks as reasonable that he 
would be plundering the pantry of this house as that Bud 
or Sarah would, though. 

Sarah. Why accuse only Bud and me ? Duncan has had 
the same chance to have taken the cake dressing as we. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Oh no, I don ’t think Duncan got it. 

Bud. He ain’t a bit too good to do anything like that. An’ 
he was gone out of the room where we were for quite a 
while. I bet he got it. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. I tell you, I don’t think so. Duncan is 
too little. 

Sarah. Bud didn’t get it while you were gone, if that’s 
when it was taken, and I know I didn’t get it. 

Bud. Sis an’ I looked at a magazine all th’ time you were 
gone over to Baker’s. 

Sarah. Duncan must be the guilty one. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Now see here, Sarah, I won’t have you 
accusing your little brother any longer. It is bad enough 
that you and Bud are both telling me a falsehood, without 
making a false accusation against an innocent party. 

Bud. Well, now, Ma, I’m not tellin’ no falsehood. I never 
got near that old cake an’ while I’m not exactly accusing 
Duncan, I believe he did, if anyone in this house did. 

Mrs. Crosslyn. Why, that is ridiculous. Duncan is too 
little. The cake was on the top shelf of the pantry. 
That would be about three feet higher than Duncan’s 
head. No, I tell you again that I don’t think Duncan 
got it. 

Duncan. Muvver, if I did dot it, I dot up on a chair an’ 
dot it. 


CURTAIN 


HERO WORSHIPERS 

Characters 

Al, an admirer of Washington 
Joe, an admirer of Lincoln 
Hub, an admirer of Lindbergh 

Scene: The reading room of a Public Library. 

Discovered: The three boys seated about a table with open 
books before them. 

Al. Gosh, but Washington was a great man! 

Joe. Which one, Al ? Booker T. ? 

Al. No, I mean George Washington. Anybody knows 
that when you say Washington , George Washington is the 
one referred to. 

Joe. Yes, but you may just think so. Why, half of the 
niggers in this country firmly believe that George and 
Booker T. were half-brothers. 

Hub. Who was Booker T. Washington, anyway? 

Al. Oh, he was just a nigger, that’s all. 

Joe. Nigger or not, he ate breakfast with President Roose¬ 
velt one time, and he wrote a book called “Up Prom 
Slavery.’ 7 

Al. Why, that’s nothing to brag about, that I can see. 
Anybody is liable to get up to breakfast some morning 
with their eyes half open and fail to notice whom they 
sit down to eat with. 

Hub. Well, for my part, I don’t set much store on either 
one of your Washingtons. First and foremost, I’m no 
nigger lover, so I don’t admire Booker T., even if he had 
slept with the Governor of Virginia. 

Al. You’ll have to admit, though, that George Washington 
was a great man. 

Hub. Well, yes, he was great all right, I suppose; but I 
don’t rate him so high on account of one thing. 

18 





HERO WORSHIPERS 


19 


Joe. What is that, Hub ? 

Hub. Why, the way he was so soft and easy to plead guilty 
to that cherry tree offense. If he had possessed any in¬ 
itiative or resourcefulness, he could easily have escaped 
all responsibility in that matter. 

Joe. Why, I don’t see how. He chopped it down. How 
could he avoid saying so, without compromising his self- 
respect ? 

Hub [pityingly]. You are pretty soft, too, Joe. 

Al. Well, why don’t you tell us how he could have avoided 
the consequences of his act ? 

Hub. I will. He could have entered the plea that he was 
suffering from a case of Si Cotter’s new roses, induced by 
an inferiority complex of hatchet-itis. 

Al. Oh, that’s all bunk. 

Hub. I don’t care if it is. It’s saved lots of people from 
occupying a bunk. 

Joe. You always try to find something funny in every¬ 
thing that is mentioned. 

Al. You ought to be a King’s Jester. 

Hub. Well, I wouldn’t mind being one, only kings are get¬ 
ting so scarce nowadays, that I might need to hire out to 
a playing-card factory in order to keep in employment. 

Al. You wouldn’t mind being a jester or fool, then f 

Hub. Why, no, I wouldn’t mind. I ’d like it. Some of the 
“fools” we read about were smarter than the kings they 
amused. It was a court fool who originated the saying 
that, “A poor excuse is worse than none.” 

Joe. The saying hardly seems to be borne out by actual 
application to life. 

Hub. That is exactly the protest which was made by the 
feeble-minded monarch to whom the maxim was originally 
stated. 

At,. Of course, though, your smart fool had some witty 
remark or retort, to defend his words and put the king 
to shame. 

Hub. The king was rather embarrassed by his own 
bungling. 


20 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Joe. Naturally, you would try to describe your hero, The 
Fool, to the best advantage. 

Hub. I only tell what is recorded in history. 

Al. Go on, then, and tell ns how he got ahead of the king. 

We are listening. I 

Hub Why, the king expressed a doubt that a poor exc ^ s ® i 
was worse than none,” just as you did, and demanded 
that the jester give him an immediate illustration to 
prove his statement. 

Joe. Which the jester did, of course. 

Hub. Yes, he did. He at once fondly embraced the king 
and kissed him on the mouth. 

Al. I can’t see where that would illustrate the adage about 


a poor excuse being worse than none. 

Hub. Neither did the king at first blush. He was very 
angry that his clown should take such a liberty, and de¬ 
manded to know what he meant by thus making love 


to him. 

Joe. And what excuse did the jester make? 

Hub. He said, “ Pardon me, Sire, I thought it was the 
Queen. ’ ’ 

Joe. Oh, I see now, * * A poor excuse. ’ ’ 

Al. And ‘ ‘ Worse than none. ’ ’ 

Hub. He proved his contention all right, didn’t he ? 

Al. Sure, but what of it, if he did. There is nothing great 
or beneficial to the following generations about that. 

Hub. I didn’t represent him as a benefactor of humanity, 
did I ? I do admire his wit and cleverness, though. 

Al. I prefer to give my admiration to some one who actu¬ 
ally did something. 

Joe. I believe I do, too, Al. 

Al. Now I really think that Washington is worth being 
patterned after and used as a model. 

Hub. I don’t hold any grudge against Washington; but 
it’s no crime against his memory to admire some one else. 

Al. In a way it is. He was The Father of our Country, 
and I think it is his just due to receive the admiration 
and respect of every American above any other person 
in history. 


HERO WORSHIPERS 


21 


Hub. You don’t mean to say that you think Washington 
should be honored and worshiped to the exclusion of 
every other great figure, do you ? 

Al. Well, just about. To my notion he was the greatest 
man that ever was, in this country or any other. 

Joe. That covers lots of territory, Al. 

Al. I know it does, Joe, and so does Washington’s great¬ 
ness, too. Why, he threw a silver dollar plumb across the 
Rappahannock River and he had to have his gloves made 
to order to get any large enough for his hands. 

Joe. Well, Abraham Lincoln didn’t wear any gloves. If 
that spells anything, I guess he was the greatest. His 
hands were so great it was too expensive to try to keep 
them covered. 

Al. Washington was a soldier and a statesman, too. He 
fought to gain freedom for the thirteen colonies; then he 
helped to make a nation of them as the first president. 

Joe. I didn’t mean to belittle the deeds of Washington; 
but I do think Lincoln labored under more difficulties. 

Hub. Whoop it up, boys! Whoop it up! The debate is 
now on. 

Al. What do you mean by “more difficulties”? Didn’t 
Washington make a republic where there was nothing? 

Joe. He had all kinds of able and worthy assistance in the 
task, though. There were Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison, 
Adams, Paine and many others to help him. In fact, the 
men I named were more largely responsible for our form 
of government than the First President. 

Al. Why do you say that? 

Joe. They wrote the Constitution, which prescribed every¬ 
thing. 

Al. Even so, then, where does Lincoln’s greatness come 
in? He not only had the Constitution to follow; but 
more than a half score of amendments to it as well. 

Joe. Yes and he also had the tremendous task of abolish¬ 
ing slavery and preserving the Union at one and the same 
time; and that with- even his own cabinet members in 
opposition to his plans and seeking to divert his ideas 
at every turn. 


22 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Hub. That is right, Al. Secretary Seward was a violent 
opponent of practically every plan or proposal put forth 
by the man who appointed him. 

Al. I don’t care what you say. Both of you can turn on 
me if you like; but I still say Washington was the greatest 
man that ever was. 

Joe. I choose Lincoln for that distinction. 

Hub. I haven’t turned on you especially, Al. You don’t 
need to feel badly toward me. Go ahead and worship 
your hero. I have no objections. 

Al. I will. I’d rather be Washington than anyone I ever 
heard of or read about. 

Hub. Which Washington do you mean, George or Booker 
T.? 

Al [indignantly]. I mean George Washington, the one we 
have been discussing. I just wish I could be George 
Washington. 

J oe. I’d rather be Lincoln, for my part. 

Hub. You fellows are foolish. I’d rather be Lindbergh 
than a dozen Washingtons and Lincolns put together. 
Not altogether on account of his greatness, either. 

Al. Well why, then, if not for his greatness? 

Hub. He’s still living, while your heroes are dead. 


CURTAIN 




WILLIE WENT AND GOT LOST 

Characters 

Willie, who lost himself in slumber 
Mrs. O ’Day, his Ma 
Mrs. Brenn, a neighbor 
Patrick Shay, an efficient policeman 
Mike O’Day, the unperturbed father 

Scene: The O’Day living-room. Among other furni¬ 
ture there is required a table at the Front Center, draped 
with a cloth which hangs almost to the floor on all sides. 

Discovered: Mrs. O’Day bustling about the room with a 
dust cloth, making a swipe here and there, and occasion¬ 
ally rearranging some article. Under the table, with his 
head protruding so that he is in plain view of the audi¬ 
ence at all times, Willie sleeps peacefully. 

Mrs. 0 ’Day. Well, and now that the old man’s gone off to 
his work and all the childers gone to school, I set myself 
down and work a bit more on the pillow cases I started 
for Sister Mary’s oldest girl’s hope chest. 

She sits and works at some needlecraft. 

Mrs. O’Day [continuing J. If something don’t happen to 
her in the way of matter-moany, that box she’s got had 
better be called a hopeless chest. And I’ve dibbled and 
dabbled on this till it’s almost a hopeless mess, too. I 
started out to make a table runner and when the lemonade 
got spilled on one end, I just turned it back under and 
started in to make a pillow case out of it. This splotched 
up place can be kept on the bottom all the time. 

Enter Mrs. Brenn, without knocking. 

Mrs. Brenn. I always just come on in without going to 
any trouble about knockin ’. It never did seem like it was 
nec’sary between close friends like us. 

23 


24 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Mrs. 0 ’Day. Why, of course not. Sit right down and 
make out like you was at home. I don’t believe in 
standin’ on no social inventions either. 

Mrs. Brenn. Now, that’s me predentically. I tell you, 
Missis 0 ’Day, folks in our station in life can’t afford to. 
It’s too much trouble and consumes too much valuable 
time for us wives of workin’ men to stand on ceremony. 

Mrs. 0 ’Day. That’s what I tell Mike when he fusses ’cause 
I don’t put on more frills and fancies when his kinfolks 
comes. Us women that’s got to put up with what we do 
and make out on the likes of what we have, can’t begin 
to complete with the idle rich poodle-packers that’s pic¬ 
tured in the Sunday Supply-mints. 

Mrs. Brenn. You said a mouthful again. I tell you, my 
husband’s income ain’t what it used to be an’ I’m havin’ 
t ’ conform myself to it. It ain’t no picnic, neither. 

Mrs. O’Day. Well, now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll 
have to admit that Mike don’t come in as early as he used 
to. Sometimes he lays out till midnight and after. 

Mrs. Brenn. That’s scan ’lous; but I was makin ’ ref ’rence 
to th’ income o’ my husband’s wages. It’s that what 
makes the shoe pinch on both feet and me barefooted in 
the bargain. 

Mrs. 0 ’Day. Oh, sure and yes, if it’s that what ye mean. 
Well, now, I c’n easily say a word or two there, too. 
AYhat does my breadwinner do last pay day but do th’ 
daily dozen on his pay envelope on account av mussin’ 
up two or three shirts he wuz sewin ’ on in th ’ fac ’try. 

Mrs. Brenn. Whut d’ye mean by th’ daily dozen ref- 
’rence ? What’s that got t ’ do with a pay envelope ? 

Mrs. O’Day. Oh, it jist means that it wuz reduced , that’s 
all, an’ a lot it is, at thht. 

Mrs. Brenn. Oh, an’ then y ’ say they reduced his pay ? 

Mrs. O’Day. Yes, he wuz sewin’ away an’ lookin’ away, 
too, both together an’ at once, so he says, when up steps 
th’ superintendent av th’ works. 

Mrs. Brenn. Och, an’ he did, did ’e? 


WILLIE WENT AND GOT LOST 


25 


Mrs. O’Day. Yes, an’ ’e says t’ Mike, says ’e, “O’Day, 
how does it happen that I come np behind yon and find 
you lookin’ out th’ windy?” 

Mrs. Brenn. I guess Mike had no answer ready fer that. 

Mrs. O’Day. Sure he did. He comes back right quick 
at ’im. 

Mrs. Brenn. What’d Mike say, then? 

Mrs. O’Day. He says, “Sure, Sor, an’ I reckin it’s them 
rubber heels ye ’re wearin ’ as accounts fer it. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Brenn. A good ans’er. 

Mrs. 0 ’Day. But a poor reply. Th ’ Super then tells Mike 
as how he’s runnin ’ his stitches as crooked as a dog’s leg. 

Mrs. Brenn. And what says Mike t ’ that ? 

Mrs. O’Day. Mike says, “Sew it seams,” an’ fer that he 
got ’is pay reduced. 

Mrs. Brenn. How terrible! Some people ain’t got no 
sense av humor in their system at all. 

Mrs. O’Day. Well, I don’t know but that th’ superin¬ 
tendent had th’ last laugh after all an’ his laugh was a 
cuttin’ one at that. 

Mrs. Brenn. I guess so. It cut an’ was cuttin’ in th’ sense 
that it cut off dollars an ’ cents. 

Mrs. 0 ’Day. An ’ also, I’ve scarcely laughed since, either. 
An’ th’ childers have missed th’ scents av their cus¬ 
tomary cream an’ candy on th’ wake av it. 

Mrs. Brenn. An’ it’s sorely they’ve missed it, too, if 
they’re one bit like mine. 

Mrs. O’Day [ springing up]. Och, an’ I hadn’t missed my 
Willie, till ye up an’ spoke as ye did. 0 Willie! 

Mrs. Brenn. An’ where is yer Willie? 

Mrs. O ’Day [frantically] . That jist what I don’t know but 
want t’ find out m’self. 0 Willie! Willie, where are you ? 

Mrs Brenn. Now Missis O’Day, do ca’m yerself. Sure 
an’ th’ lad ain’t far. 

Mrs. O’Day [turning round and round, waving her arms]. 
Och, an’ ’e might be. He does so love t’ play. Willie! 
0 Willie! Are ye lost ? Ans ’er me quick, yis or no! 


26 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


Mrs. Brenn. I tell ye, Missis O’Day, if he’s lost it ain’t 
likely ye’ll ever find ’im alive. There’s so many things 
can happen to a child on th ’ streets now. 

Mrs. O’Day. 0 Willie! Willie! Ans’er yer Ma! Och, 
an ’ let’s go look fer ’im, Missis Brenn. 

Mrs. Brenn. Sure, an ’ let’s do. Let’s call at th ’ accident 
ward av th’ nearest hospital first. He’s prob’ly been 
run over by somethin’ by now. 

They both go out at Left. The women are scarcely out 
when Patrick Shay and Mike 0 ’Day enter at the Right . 

Patrick. Sure an’ I’m glad ye’re not workin’ to-day, 
Mike. 

Mike. Well, it’s glad I am, Patrick, an’ sorry, too. I’m 
glad t ’ miss th ’ duty but sorry t ’ lose th ’ revenue. 

Patrick. An’ how does it happen ye’re off t’day? 

Mike. Well, I went down t’ th’ mill an’ milled aroun’ 
waitin ’ my turn t ’ turn in my check number an ’ git a new 
pack av ampytated an’ perforated pins, an’ th’ foreman 
announces that we won’t work t ’day. 

Patrick. What is ampytated an ’ perforated pins ? 

Mike. Why, that’s needles. They ain’t nothin’ but pins 
with th’ heads cut off an’ holes punched in ’em. 

Patrick. I hadn’t thought of that. Not so bad fer a nick¬ 
name either. 

Mike. Oh, I’m quite a hand at givin’ things nicknames. 

Patrick. That reminds me av a good one a feller pulls on 
me last week. 

Mike. An’ what’d ’e pull, Pat? A pocket cannon? 

Patrick. Oh no. He pulled a wise crack at me that left 
me without an ans’er, fer once. 

Mike. I can’t imagine that. Tell me about it at once. 

Patrick. Well, this feller was in a early copy av one av 
Pharaoh’s chariots— 

Mike. I bet I know th ’ guy. 

Patrick. An’ he was tryin’ t’ cross t’ th’ south when I 
had signaled that traffic was open to th’ east. 

Mike. Tryin’ t’ cross? Whyn’t ye stop ’im? 

Patrick. I did. That ’s where he put in ’is wise crack. 


WILLIE WENT AND GOT LOST 


27 


Mike. What’d ’e say? 

Patrick. Oh, I had th’ first say. I bawled ’im out an’ 
called ’im up good an ’ proper at first. He just set meek 
an ’ took what I poured on ’im an ’ where it’d run on ’im. 
Finally I wound ur by callin ’ ’im several different varie¬ 
ties av idjiot an’ asked ’im if he didn’t see my han’. 

Mike. Asked ’im if he could see that mitt av yours an’ 
it with yaller gloves on ! He couldn’t miss seein ’ that. 

Patrick. That’s what I know, but when I says , 1 ‘ Didn’t ye 
see my han’,” he pops back, ‘‘No, sir, I thought that was 
a bunch of bananas you was wavin ’ fer me t ’ come after. ’ ’ 

Reenter Mrs. O’Day and Mrs. Brenn excitedly. 

Mrs. O’Day. Och, an’ here’s Michael. 0 Michael, 
Michael! Willie’s lost! 

Mike. Quiet now, Molly, maybe he’s not lost . He’s prob¬ 
ably only misplaced himself somewhere. 

Mrs. Brenn. Stand there, Patrick Shay! Ye’re a fine 
policeman! Let people’s offspring get lost right on yer 
beat an’ not do a thing about it but fly yer mouth open 
like a crocodile eatin’ alligator pears. 

Patrick. Sure, an’ I’ll find th’ bye, Missis Brenn. Be 
calm, Missis O’Day, I think I have a clue right now. 
(Looks at Willie’s foot protruding from beneath the 
table.) 

Mike. Patrick’s th’ one’ll find ’im if he c’n be found. 

Patrick [dragging Willie out]. Come out, young man, an’ 
be rescued from a horrible fate by Missis Brenn, yer 
mother’s worried about ye. 


curtain 


THE RIGHT OF BOYHOOD 

A Colonial Costume Play 


Characters # 


Captain Stearne, a British officer 
Corporal Juste, his orderly 
Josiah 


Francis 

Harry 

Carroll 

Marion 


Colonial lads 


Scene: Captain Stearne’s room. A cot , a table and 
two chairs comprise the furniture. A large map of Massa¬ 
chusetts is on the wall. 


Discovered: Captain Stearne seated at table writing. 


Enter Corporal Juste. 

Corporal Juste [saluting]. Sir, there is a delegation out¬ 
side to see you. 

Captain Stearne [sourly]. What kind of a delegation, 
Corporal Juste? 

Corporal Juste. They are Americans, of course, sir. 

Captain Stearne. I might have known that. But who is 
in the delegation? Hancock* and Adams, I hope. If 
those arch leaders of rebel ideas are here, I shall imprison 
them before the sun sets again. 

Corporal Juste. No men are present, sir. These are only 
boys. 

Captain Stearne. Boys! I have no time to waste on the 
children of rebels and traitors to their king. Their par¬ 
ents should have taught them more respect for their 
elders and for those in authority, than to disturb me. 

Corporal Juste They say, sir, that if you will but hear 
them a moment, they will remain perfectly quiet and 
orderly. 


28 



THE RIGHT OF BOYHOOD 


29 


Captain Stearne. Hear them? That is all that I have 
done since I came to Boston. I have heard the mouthings 
and growlings of these dissatisfied renegades until I will 
hear no more. Now even the boys are trotting to me 
with some sort of petition or plea. I tell you, Corporal, 
there is no pleasing these Colonial dogs. Tell them to 
move away at once, before I have them imprisoned with 
some of their forebears. 

Corporal Juste [pleadingly] . But, sir, I think if you will 
but hear these lads, you will say that there is some justice 
in what they say. They ask some rights. 

Captain Stearne. Rights? They have no rights! By 
their undutifulness to their king, they have forfeited all 
claim to any of the rights of an Englishman. They call 
themselves Americans. Well, let them get the rights of 
an American, if they know how. Do as I say and drive 
them away at once, Corporal. 

Corporal Juste starts out, but halts at the door and 
turns about again in imploring attitude. 

Corporal Juste. Sir, you may court-martial me, if you 
like; but I will say what I have to tell you, if it costs me 
my neck. 

Captain Stearne. Corporal Juste! I gave you a com¬ 
mand. Are you a madman, to act thus ? 

Corporal Juste. Perhaps I am. But, even so, I am also 
a father, and not as a soldier to his officer, but as one 
father to another, I ask you, I implore you to hear these 
children in their plea. 

Captain Stearne [ touched ]. What is that you say, Juste ? 

Corporal Juste. I say, sir, that both of us have hoys who 
wait for our return, far across the waves, in England. 
We both have sons whom we may never see again, and 
who may, some day, be asking others to grant them some 
small request. And sir, I say, do as you like with me; 
but for the sake of our two sons across the sea, hear what 
these lads of America have to say. 


30 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Much moved, Captain Stearne goes to Corporal Juste 
and puts his arm familiarly across the latter’s shoulders. 

Captain Stearne. Bring them in, Edward, and fear not 
for yourself. 

Corporal Juste presses Captain Stearne’s hand for a 
moment, then turns to go. At the door he salutes. 

Corporal Juste. Thank you, sir. I hope we’ll neither of 
us be sorry for this, and I ’m ’most sure that we won’t. 

Exit Corporal Juste. 

Captain Stearne [reflecting]. I may regret this sorely 
when I have had time for my sentiment to cool a bit. 
Corporal Juste mentioned the word grievance. When 
these rebels have a grievance, be it real or fancied, they 
are the most persistent people on earth. I know the 
elders, and I am told that the very children have been 
nursed and nurtured upon discontent, until even they 
are masters of rhetoric and eloquence when under the im¬ 
pression that they have a grievance. [Goes back to his 
table and seats himself. ] 

[Pause.] 

Captain Stearne. But I shall hear them, as Corporal 
Juste begged me to do, in the name of his son and mine. 
Corporal Juste is rather too tender-hearted to be a good 
soldier, I fear. They may be saying the same of Captain 
Stearne next. I have smothered all of my nobler feelings 
since I have been in Boston, thinking I could better please 
my superiors in that manner. But I cannot always hide 
my heart. 

Reenter Corporal Juste, followed by the boys. 

Corporal Juste. Here they are, sir, and may God make 
you think of your own son as you hear them. 

The boys stand before the table in manful attitudes, but 
with hats respectfully removed. 


THE RIGHT OF BOYHOOD 


31 


Captain Stearne [resuming his gruff ness]. You may go 
now, Corporal. I fear that you are a bad influence upon 
me as a soldier. 

Exit Corporal Juste. 

Josiah. We came here in a group, sir, to lay our griev¬ 
ances before you. 

Captain Stearne. And a self-willed and saucy looking 
group you are, too, I must say. 

Captain Stearne tries to intimidate the hoys hy his 
severity of manner and speech. 

Francis. No, sir, pardon me, but we are neither. At 
least we do not mean to be. 

Harry. We are all too well aware of the fact that you not 
only possess an advantage over us, but even over our 
sires, for anything like that. 

Carroll. We come here to present our grievance in the 
most respectful manner we know how to assume. 

Captain Stearne. Ah yes, your grievance. Let’s hear 
your grievance, if you have any. Don’t forget, though, 
that you are now before that far-famed man-eater, Cap¬ 
tain Stearne of His Majesty’s troops. 

Marion. With all the respect which we can command and 
control, we shall present our petition to the man , disre¬ 
garding his uniform, which to us is so hateful as a symbol 
of our oppression. 

Captain Stearne. What! You young whelp, you disre¬ 
spect my uniform ? 

Marion [fearlessly]. Sir, did I not just tell you that so 
far from disrespecting it, we disregard it entirely ? 

Harry. We have schooled ourselves to endure many things 
in silence, sir, that we do not like. 

Francis. If we can endure the sight of something hateful 
to us without reviling it, you can surely endure hearing 
a few words from us. 

Captain Stearne. I can. No mere lads can put me to 
shame. Speak on, young rebels. I shall hear you 
through. 


32 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


Carroll. We call ourselves patriots; but since we did not 
come here to give insult, we shall not allow ourselves to 
take one. 

Josiah. Nothing that you may say can inflame us to for¬ 
get the purpose of our visit and mar our chances of success 
by an angry retort. 

Captain Stearne. Well, state your troubles and have done 
with it. I cannot waste all the day with you. 

Harry. We have come to tell you of the overbearing and 
unnecessary harshness of your soldiers. 

Captain Stearne. My soldiers are usually under orders 
in their every act. What have they done now ? 

Francis. Tell him, Marion. You can express yourself 
better than we. 

Marion. Sir, we have come to tell you that your soldiers 
have conducted themselves as cowards and bullies, and 
whether they acted under orders or not, we consider it 
mere wantonness that our playgrounds have been disfig¬ 
ured, our pastimes interrupted, and our snow forts and 
houses trampled underfoot. 

Captain Stearne. Such another long-winded little orator! 
My lad, you must surely be the son of Patrick Henry. 

Josiah. We have heard of Patrick Henry of Virginia*. 
What has that to do with the destruction of our forts ? 

Captain Stearne. Ah, you have been building forts, then. 
What was your object in that ? 

Josiah. We played war, sir. We made snow men, whom 
we painted red with berry juice and knocked to pieces 
with snowballs, calling them Redcoats. 

Carroll. We also had sticks for bayonets, and when we 
made a charge, we gave the Indian war whoop. 

Francis. We did all these things in preparation and prac¬ 
tice for the time when we may be old enough to become 
real soldiers and fight for the rights of our country. 

Captain Stearne. Ah yes, you young hellions are yet too 
young to feel all the force of the retribution that is surely 
coming to these impudent and impertinent colonies. 


THE RIGHT OF BOYHOOD 


33 


Harry. We are not too young to feel the humiliation and 
injustice of being needlessly routed from our accustomed 
playgrounds by your soldiers, though. 

Marion. And we are not too young to tell you of our 
wrongs and demand the restitution of our rights. 

Captain Stearne. Your rights? Have you any rights? 
What are your rights that you and your seniors keep 
prattling about so much of late ? 

Francis. Your king and his soldiers seem to feel that a 
right does not exist for anyone if it interferes or con¬ 
flicts in the slightest with any trivial wish or desire of 
theirs. But we are here to assert our right to play upon 
the Boston Common rather than have your men use it as 
a drill ground. 

Harry. There are plenty of places where they might drill 
without usurping the corner which we have used as a 
playground since our infancy. We were there first with 
our playing, so it is nothing but tyranny to take it from us. 

Captain Stearne. Your playing, indeed! What right 
have you to play, anyway? You young followers of the 
freethinkers, can you cite me anything in the Bill of 
Rights or the Magna Charta that gives you the right to 
play? 

Captain Stearne indicates Marion with a triumphant 
air. 

Captain Stearne. Now tell me, young spokesman, what 
right have you to play, and I shall perhaps give your 
plea more consideration. 

Marion. Sir, we have an eminent right to play. Our right 
to play is one which goes back of all Constitutions and 
Charters, back of all Bills of Rights and Magna Chartas. 
The right of boys to play is one that precedes and ante¬ 
dates all the instruments and documents ever conceived 
in the mind of man or stricken off by his hand.. Sir, the 
right to play is God-given. It was included in the very 
beginning in the mighty plan of creation. Our Maker 
so conceived us and so constructed us that we not only 
might have a desire to play; but that we should play. 



34 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


He included it in the nature of all the young of His crea¬ 
tion that they should seek an outlet for the ever bubbling 
surplus of their energy and spirit. He also provided a 
place for them to find this outlet when he carpeted the 
ground with flower-embroidered grass and shaded it with 
bending boughs of verdant beauty and branches laden 
with fruit. God created us, sir, gave us our nature and 
provided His wonderful out-of-doors for us to indulge 
that nature. So I affirm to you that we can claim the 
privilege of playing by the most sacred right under 
Heaven, The Right of Boyhood! 

Captain Stearne [rising ]. Well said, young man, well 
said. While you were speaking, my own boyhood rose 
vividly before me, and I also caught a picture of a pair of 
boys at their play beneath the distant groves and hedges 
of England. One is an officer’s son, while the other is 
only a private’s boy; but the call of boyhood is universal 
and its rights are not to be trampled upon or tampered 
with. Go back to your pastimes, my lads. Your play¬ 
ground will be bothered no more. 

Boys [in unison]. Hooray for Captain Stearne and The 
Rights of Boyhood. 


CURTAIN 


TRUE LOVE’S COURSE 

Characters 

Jughead Brown, matrimonial candidate 
Sandusky White, his one constituent 

Scene : Living-room of White home 

Discovered: Sandusky and Jughead seated near each 
other. 

Jughead. Yes, suhree, I tells yo’ fo’ a factuality, Honey- 
footses, de minit I landed in dis town an’ focused my 
optional orbs on yo’ face an’ form, I knowed right then 
that I wuz gonna be guilty ob envelopin’ a fragile feelin’ 
fo’ yo’ an’ conspiracy t’ promulgate co’tship fo’thwith. 

Dusky. Really, now, Jughead, wuz yo’ attracted by my 
dull pussonality? 

Jughead. Wuz I? Why Dusky, Ise willin’ an’ ready t’ 
make Alfred David befo’ a Note uv a Republican dat I 
wuz jest lak i’on film’s an’ you wuz jest lak a magnet. 
As fo’ yo’ pussonality, I though yo’ had on de bes’ 
lookin’ one dat wuz present. 

Dusky. Oh, yo ’ll flattah me! 

Jughead. No, I won’ neithah. Not ef I knows it, at least. 
I don’t want yo’ no flattah nor what yo’ am now. I 
likes cu’ves an’ tu’ns on de human frame, ’stead uv 
angles an ’ co ’nahs. 

Dusky. Oh, you do ? 

Jughead. Yes’m, I does. I got mahse’f cut one time on a 
flattened out gal’s shouldah blade. 

Dusky [suspiciously]. Oh, then, yo’s been in de lovin’ 
bizness befo’? 

Jughead. Well, I wouldn’t ezackly call it much uv a 
bizness. 

Dusky. Why not call it a bizness? Yo’ wuz prob’ly 
engaged in de cou ’se of it, wuzn’t yo ’ ? 

Jughead. P ’raps dat’s true, in a way; but de only dividen ’ 
I got on de wind-up wuz jest a note. 


35 


36 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Dusky. Wuz it promissory? 

Jughead. No, hit was oblige-atory. 

Dusky. Yo’ means obligatory. 

Jughead. I means what I said. Dat wuz a oblige-atory 
note. 

Dusky. I nevah did heah uv no such kinda note lak dat 
befo’. Esplain yo’se’f a little mo’ in detail. 

Jughead. Well, de reason dat I says dat note wuz oblige- 
atory is ’cause dis gal I wuz Tipperaryily consortin’ 
wid, she says in de note dat huh ex-husban’ had come 
back, so it wuz oblige-atory on my pa’t t’ evaporate de ; 
premises at once. 

Dusky [disappointed]. An’ I thought all de time dat I 
wuz yo ’ fust love. 

Jughead [airily ]. Oh no, fust is fo’ most, yo’ knows. 

Dusky. An’ yo’ had dis affai’ wid dat othah woman befo’ 
yo ’ made promises to me! 

Jughead. Well, all I c’n say ’bout dat is, dat yo’ should 
have happenated along sooner, an’ injected yo’se’f into 
my life. I reckin I ain’t t ’ blame ’cause I nevah met yo ’ 
befo’ I did. 

Dusky. Yeah, but Jughead, ef yo’d had de leastes’ pa’tide 
of pschycic feelin’, yo’d a-knowed not t’ fall in love till 
yo ’ met me. 

Jughead. No, dat’s de trouble. Ise allays had too much 
cyclone feelin’. 

Dusky. Yo’ previous actions don’t evidence yo’ axiom. 

Jughead. I don’t keer how many acks an’ axes yo’ bring 
in, jest so’s yo’ don’t use none uv ’em on me; but I tells 
yo’ I knows what Ise talkin’ ’bout, Dusky. 

Dusky. I don’t think yo’ does. 

Jughead. Yes, I does, too. Ise plumb full ob cyclone 
feelin’s. 

Dusky. Well, dat s de fust time I evah knowed uv a 
pusson’s pschycic feelin’s t’ induce ’em t’ fall in love wid 
evahthing dat com along uv de opposite sex. 

Jughead. But Dusky, yo’ fails t’ un’erstan’. 

Dusky. I evidemply does. 



TRUE LOVE’S COURSE 


37 


Jughead. De reason I says it wuz a cyclone feelin’ is 
’cause I wuz simply tuck by storm. 

Dusky [firmly]. Well, den, yo’ c’n jest blow yo’se’f away 
f’m lieah, yo’ whirlwin’ uv human emotions. 

Jughead [conciliatingly]. Now wait a minit, Honey- 
bunch. 

Dusky. No wait about it, yo’s done an’ sold. Now ship 
yo ’se ’f away f’m heah. 

Jughead. Let me esplain — 

Dusky [interrupting], Yo’ needn’t esplain nothin’ t’ me, 
yo ’ perfidious fien ’. 

Jughead. Now lookah heah, Toodlums, yo’ ain’t givin’ 
me no square meal—I mean deal. 

Dusky. I ain’t givin’ yo’ nothin’ no mo’, big boy, but de 
ai’ an’ lots uv it. 

Jughead. Does yo’ mean by dat— 

Dusky. I jest means by dat fo’ yo’t’ count yo’se’f again; 
yo’ ain’t so many. 

Jughead. Oh well, fo’ dat mattah, yo’ might try takin’ 
yo’ tempe’tuah. Yo’ ain’t so warm. 

Dusky. Why don’t yo ’ go on back to dat othah woman an ’ 
git yo’se’f some uv huh secon’ han’ love an’ wa’med ovah 
vittles ? 

Jughead. Well, dere's two good reasons why I don’t. 

Dusky. Am dat all? 

Jughead. Yeah, an’ yo’s one uv ’em. 

Dusky [somewhat mollified]. An’ what’s de othah ’n? 

Jughead. Dat ex-husban’. 

Dusky [stiffening again]. Well, move on, black boy. I 
done tole yo ’ dat I’d gib yo ’ de ai ’. 

Jughead. Oh, yo’s done gib me de ai’, den? Well, dat 
bein’ de case, what’s de chorus? 

Dusky. De chorus am, “Bye-bye, Blackbird.” 

Jughead [rising to go]. Bein’ as yo’s so musical, den, tell 
me some place t’ go. 

Dusky. Why, go “ Way Down Upon de Swanee Rivah.” 

Jughead. Whe’e am de Swanee Rivah? 

Dusky. Why, its “Far, far away.” 

Jughead. Aw, Angel Ankles! 


38 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


Dusky. An’ don’t be callin’ me none uv dem private 
names no mo’, eithah. I wants t’ fergit that I evah 
knowed yo’ an’ nevah be reminded uv it. So be on yo’ 
way. 

Jughead. Aw, wait a momentum uv a minit. 

Dusky. Evah minit dat passes an’ evah wud yo’ says jest 
only makes wuss mattahs baddah. 

Jughead. But, Angel Ankles, yo’ ain’t gonna sho nuff 
make me go away f’m yo ’ sassiety, am yo ’ ? 

Dusky. I mos’ indeedly am. Yo’ jest mought as well git 
t’ feelin’ sorry fo’ yo’se’f ’cause Ise gonna quit yo’ lak 
a hen dat won’t set quits a nest. 

Jughead. Aw, pshaw, now, dat ain’t no way t ’ talk. 

Dusky. It am de way Ise talkin’, anyhow. 

Jughead. But yo’ knows dat I loves yo’, excludedly, con- 
clusibly, an ’ accusively. 

Dusky. Dem’s nice soundin’ wuds; but dey ain’t removin’ 
de unlovely po ’trait uv yo ’ love fo ’ dat othah female. 

Jughead. Hones’ t’ actualness, I nevah axually loved dat 
woman. 

Dusky [sarcastically]. Am dat so? 

Jughead. Not only dat, but I nevah loved nobody but yo’ 
own sweet se ’f, Sandusky. 

Dusky. Niggah, don’t set the’e befo’ me an’ intrude sich 
illogical idiosyncracies upon my intelligence. 

Jughead. Dat’s right, go ahead an’ call me all de names 
yo’ c’n think uv, but I ain’t lyin’ t’ nobody when I 
says what I did. 

.Dusky. Yo’ lies so much I cain’t hahdly tell when is yo’ 
or when ain’t yo ’. 

Jughead. Aw no, Sugarfoots, I nevah lies much t’ yo’. 

Dusky. No, yo’ jest only lies so much dot yo’s gittin’ 
concentrated, 

Jughead. But Sandusky, I deconfirms dat I nevah axually 
loved no female woman but Sandusky White. 

Dusky. Oh, am dat so, Mistah Jughead Brown? 

Jughead. Dat’s so an’ more so. In fack, it am so so dat 
it am double-stitched. 



TRUE LOVE’S COURSE 


39 


Dusky. Well, jest please esplain how it wuz dot yo’ wuz 
so skeered uv dis woman’s husban’, ef yo’s not enameled 
uv de woman? 

Jughead. Oh — a— well— yo ’ see— 

Dusky. I don’t see nothin’ but de impressive impression 
dat yo’ wuz wile about dat woman an’ had mos’ un¬ 
doubtedly an’ in-double-tree been braggin’ on huh cookin’ 
an’ gittin’ huh t’ press yo’ pants, among othah incrimi- 
datin’ evidences uv guilt. 

Jughead. But honey, I still mantames dat I nevah loved 
dat woman. 

Dusky. Am dat all yo’ c’n say? [Mimics.] “I nevah 
loved dat woman. I nevah loved nobody but yo ’, Dusky. ’ ’ 

Jughead. Sweetness, why don’t yo’ b’lieves what I tells 
yo’? 

Dusky. I has allays been taught not to lissen t’ th’ song 
uv th’ siren. 

Jughead. Well, gosh-a-mighty, dat don’t apply t’ me. I 
ain’t no Syrian. 

Dusky. Well, bein’ as yo’ jest persists in ’peatin’ an’ 
repeatin’ dem wuds, “I love yo’,” I guess I’ll hafta 
assept ’em. 

Jughead. Good fo’dat! 

Dusky. But I cain’t only afford t’ take ’em at face value, 
an’ look what a face dey come out uv. 

Jughead. Aw shuckins! Yo’ knows dat I love yo’. 

Dusky. How come yo ’ wuz one uv de angles in de triangle 
dats tryin’ t’ angle anothah man out uv his wife? 

Jughead. Aw, I nevah did axually want dat woman fo’ 
huhse’f’s sake. < . 

Dusky. How come she wuz evah a incident m yo life 
a-tall, then ? 

Jughead. Well, I guess I wuz sorter what yo might call 
infactuated wid huh at one time. 

Dusky. So yo’ fin’ly admits.it, then? 

Jughead. Yeah, I admits t’ hangin’ ’roun’ dat woman t 
some extension. 

Dusky. Why don’t yo ’ go on back an ’ hang some mo ’ ? 


40 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Jughead. I wuzn’t hangin ’ ’roun’ out uv no love I had 
f o ’ de woman or no pussonal cha’m she had f o ’ me. 

Dusky. Dat ’s kinda ha’d t’ b’lieve, Jughead. 

Jughead. Nevah-the-some-how, it am a fack. 

Dusky. Well, what on earth wuz yo’ riskin’ yo’ hide 
f o ’, then ? 

Jughead. I had a fowl pu’pose in view. 

Dusky. Oh, yo’ brazen-faced demon! 

Jughead. Yeah, my intentions wuz fowl. She wuz a awful 
good cook an ’ she had a big flock uv chickens. 

Dusky. So dat esplains it. No wopdah that po’ long 
suf ’rin’ husban’ had a unkin’ feelin’ in yo’ direction. I 
un’erstan’s it puffeckly now, ’cause I knows yo’ weakness 
fo’ fried poultry. 

Jughead. Den yo’ am satisfied ’bout dat unpleasant pa’t 
uv my past, am yo ’, Angel Ankles ? 

Dusky. Why, co ’se I is. I nevah lost no pullets in de deal. 
Why should I be bothe’d about it ? 

Jughead. Ise been tellin’ yo’ an’ m’se’f too, that yo’ 
shouldn’t. 

Dusky. But the’s jest only one thing that I wants t’ hab 
settled yit. 

Jughead. What am it, Sweetness? 

Dusky. I wants t ’ know ef, by any chance, while yo ’ wuz 
hibernatin’ ’roun’ dat female, yo’ developed a taste fo’ 
buh cookin’ dat might revert t’ yo’ mem’ry an’ depre¬ 
ciate mine. 

Jughead. An’ I immediately answers, no, absolutely, posi- 
lutely. 

Dusky. Well, I once mo’ assep’s yo’ love an’ offahs yo’ 
mine. 

Jughead. Honey, dem wuds am a boom t’ my hearin’. 
[Comes closer.] An’ dat smile on yo’ face as yo’ says it 
am like gittin’ a glimpse uv Paradise. 

Dusky. Oh, yo ’ big, black bunch o ’ sweetness ! 

Jughead. Say, Dusky, looka heah. Yo’s got a good job 
an’ Ise got—lots uv ambition, what’s t’ hinder us f’m 
indulgin ’ in matter-moany ? 




TRUE LOVE’S COURSE 


41 


Dusky. Nothin’ ain’t been hinderin’ it fo’ de las’ six 
weeks but yo’ bashfulness. 

Jughead. So yo ’ asep’s me for ’ wuss or none at all ? 

Dusky. Consider yo ’se ’f a engaged man. 

Jughead. Well, I ain’t nevah gonna be bashful no mo’, 
an’ jest t’ show I mean what I say, I wants t’ ax a 
question. 

Dusky. Yes? 

Jughead. What’ll yo’ do ef I gits up cross some mawnin’ 
an ’ bangs things aroun ’ ’cause de coffee am cold ? 

Dusky. Oh, I’ll make it hot fo’ yo’, an’ I don’t mean 
de coffee. 


CURTAIN 


ONLY AN ONLY CHILD 

Characters 

Ma Tucker, a doting mother 
Pa Tucker, hardly so doting 
Tom, the only child 

Scene: Breakfast room 

Costumes: Regular “old folks” garb for Pa and Ma. 
Night gown and cap for Tom. 

Discovered: Ma and Pa at table. 

Pa [drinks coffee , sputters and gurgles]. My cripes, Ma! 
That coffee musta been warmed over, fer shore. It’s too 
bloomin’ hot t’ jest had one heatin’. Ma, ye’ve burnt 
me bad. 

Ma. Y’ shouldn’t orter be so greedy an’ anxious, Pa. 
Where’s th’ manners I been tryin’ t’ teach y’ fer thirty 
years ? Why ’n’t y ’ use yer sasser ? 

Pa. Use nothin’! Why’n’t y ’ tell me ye’d poured me out 
a solution uv consecrated lye? 

Ma. I thought shorely y ’ had gumption enough in yer 
noggin t ’ know that anything that’s boilin ’ ’ll burn. 

Pa. What about Pee-rox-ide? 

Ma. Now don’t be silly, Pa. Y ’ know what I mean. 

Pa. Yeah, I know ye’re mean. Anybody’s mean, that’ll 
willfully an’ delib’rately an’ with malice aforethought 
up and scald all th’ hide out uv a feller’s mouth an’ ha’f 
his goozle. 

Ma. There y’ go again. I never scalded y’. I never told 
y’ t’ try t’ drink yer coffee sizzlin’ hot like that. Y’ 
needn’t pack th ’ blame on me. 

Pa. Well, y’ never told me not to , an’ th’ sin uv omission 
is jest as bad as th’ sin uv comission. 

Ma. Tut, y’ ain’t hurt much or y’ couldn’t set thar an’ 
beller like a yearlin ’ ca ’f that’s lost its ma. 


42 


ONLY AN ONLY CHILD 


43 


Pa. Ain’t hurt, nothin’! [Talks with his mouth wide 
open.] I tell ye I’m plumb scalded. Th’ hide’s jest 
a-hangin’. 

Ma. I don’t hardly think so. But ain’t I told y’ an’ told 
y’ time an’ again, not t’ be so ignorant as t’ say hide? 

Pa. What’ll I say, then? 

Ma. Why, say skin. 

Pa. My mouth’s burnt so bad it hurts when I shut it. 

Ma. Oh, I don’t think it’s serious. 

Pa. No, it ain’t a seared mess; but it’s awful bad cooked 
up. 

Ma. You’ll git over that an’ never know th’ difference, a 
hundred years f’m now. 

Pa. No, I won’t neither. I’m li’ble t’ develop gander 
green. 

Ma. What if you did ? 

Pa. I’d hafta pasturize m ’se ’f with goslin ’ grease. 

Tommy, off stage, interrupts. 

Tom. Baw-w-w! 

Ma [starting]. That’s Thomas. 

Pa. A stranger’d think it wuz a young mule. 

Ma. I’d be ashamed, Pa. 

Pa. I am ashamed uv ’im. If you’d let me, I’d take some 
o ’ that out uv ’im, too. 

Tom [still off stage, whines] . Maw-w-w. 

Ma [rising hurriedly]. What is it, son? 

Tom [off stage and still whining]. I want up-p-p. 

Pa. Git up, then. Y’ ain’t tied, I reckin. 

Tom [off stage]. I wanta be took up-p -p. 

Ma [going out]. Mother’s comin,’ darlin’. 

Exit Ma. 

Pa. Darlin 9 . He remin’s me uv a yearlin’ calf. He’s 
plumb aggrafrettin ’ on account uv how his ma’s spiled 
’im, an’ I b’lieve he’s gittin’ wuss ever’ day uv his life. 
If he gits much wuss I don’t know what’s t’ be done. 

Ma [off stage]. Pa! 


44 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Pa. What ? 

Ma. Come here. 

Pa. Whatcha want ? 

Ma. Thomas wants to be tuk up by ’is pa this mornin 

Pa [rising unwillingly] . He needs t’ be tuk up by th’ hair 
o ’ th ’ head an ’ have a tuck run in ’is pants with a butter 
paddle. 

Tom [off stage]. Hurry up, Pa, I wanta rise. 

Pa [going out). If I had my way, I’d make y’ rise in a 
place that wouldn’t permit y’ t’ set no more fer a week. 

Exit Pa. 

Ma [off stage] . Kiss yer pa good mornin’, son. 

Tom [off stage]. I don’t wanna kiss him good mornin’, 
ma. His whiskers tickle me nearly to death. 

Ma [off stage]. Oh, I’d kiss ’im though, son. 

Tom [off stage]. No-o-o. I’d as soon kiss a billy goat as t ’ 
kiss him in th ’ mouth. 

Pa [off stage]. Well, nobody ain’t worryin’ about y’ not 
kissin’ me. I’d jest as lief be licked in th’ face by a 
young houn’ pup. 

Ma [off stage]. Well, take Precious up, Pa, an’ le’s all eat. 

Pa [off stage]. Ow! You little whippersnapper, leggo my 
whiskers! Leggo, I say. 

Ma [off stage] . You mustn’t do that, son. That’s rude. 

Tom [off stage]. It looks like corn silk. 

Enter Pa, carrying Tom astride his neck. Ma follows 
closely behind. Pa tries to put Tom down, but the boy 
clings fast to him. 

Pa. Leggo, y’ little leech! Yer ride’s over now. Git 
down! Ow! Ye’re chokin’me. Git down! 

Tom. I want Ma to take me down. 

Ma [advancing]. All right. Mother’ll take her precious 
baby down, if he wants down. 

Ma starts to take him down , but he gives a lurch which 
upsets Pa and knocks Ma backward. 

Pa [on the floor]. Uh-h-h! What in tarnation d’ y ’ mean, 


ONLY AN ONLY CHILD 


45 


y’ little reperbate? I’ll bust yer goll-durned caboosus 
f er that, as shore as I’m a-livin 

Pa rises angrily and starts for Tom, who runs to Ma and 
wraps himself in her skirt for protection. 

Ma [ shielding Tom]. Now Pa, that wuz only a accident. 
Don’t git so riled. 

Pa. Like thunderation it was! That was a pure hard- 
down, premeditated co-instigation, an’ I’m gonna land on 
’is island outpost fer it, too. 

Tom. You can’t either, for the doctor said a sudden shock 
would make my nose bleed. 

Pa [reaching for Tom], Yer nose ain’t yer island outpost, 
my sonny-man. 

Tom. Ma, Ma, he ’s gonna get me ! 

Pa [catches Tom’s ear ]. Come along uv me, you young 
rapscallion. I ’ll learn y ’ how t ’ cut yer capers. 

Tom. Ow-w-w ! Ma, he’s dislocatin ’ my ear! 

Ma [fiercely]. You big brute! Stop pullin’ that child’s 
ear! [Catches Pa’s ears and pulls savagely.] I’ll show 
y’ how it feels. 

Pa [releases Tom]. My gosh, Ma! Ye’re stretchin’ my 
hearin’ apparatuses till, if I’s t’ have my picture took, 
both uv ’em ’d show in a side view. 

Ma. I told y ’ I’d show y ’ how it felt. 

Pa. Well, that’ll do! Ye’ve showed me enough. Th’ 
feelin’s done settled in my boots, an ’ I c ’n see about six 
inches uv ear stickin’ out on each side uv my head. 

Tom [ gleefully ]. They sure are stretched, Ma. 

Ma [releases Pa]. Next time don’t be so hasty about 
Cassaring a child without just and righteous cause. 

Pa. My cripes! I never knowed till now that a feller’s 
ears wuz made out uv rubber. Mine’s as eplastic as a 
sponge. Th’ only trouble is that I’m afeered they won’t 
go back t’ their former shape, though. 

Tom. Maw-w-w! I want a eat. 

Ma [patting Tom’s shoulder]. All right, Precious, you 
shall have your breakfast now. 


46 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


Tom starts to sit at the table. 

Pa. Hold on there, a minit, young man! I jest lost one 
battle; we’re gonna have another ’n before you set down 
t’ eat without washin’. 

Ma. Now, what’s th’ matter uv you, Pa? 

Pa. That young bumpkin ain’t gonna set at no table an’ 
eat with me unless he washes. 

Tom. No-o-o, th’ water’s too cold. I don’t wanta wash. 
Th ’ water’s cold as ice. 

Pa [threateningly]. I’ll make it hot fer y’, young jacka¬ 
napes. Understan’that ? 

Ma [placatingly] . Yes, be a little man now, an’ wash yer 
face an’ han’s, son. 

Tom goes to basin and pours out some water, 

Tom. I’ll wash my hands; but my face don’t need it. I 
ain’t used it fer nothin ’ since it was washed. 

Pa. You’ll wash that mug, too. 

Ma [warningly]. Now, Pa, don’t git too obstreperous an’ 
hasty. That’s no way t’ control a child. Y’ must prac¬ 
tice kin ’ness an ’ patience, ’stead uv overbearin ’ harshness. 

Pa [covering his ears with his hands]. Well, then, you try 
some uv yer faith healin’ ’im fer a start, an’ if it don’t 
work, the’s gonna be more war in th ’ camp. 

Ma [very gently]. Now, Thomas, y’ know Mother loves y’ 
an ’ wouldn’t tell y ’ anything t ’ harm y ’ fer th ’ world. 

Tom. You told me that that mustard plaster wouldn’t 
burn; but it did. 

Pa [bristling]. Don’t git too sassy, young feller. Re¬ 
member yer pa is still, here. [Shakes fist at Tom in a 
menacing manner.] 

Ma [to Pa]. An’ don’t you git too rampe-squeejious, 
neither. Jest bear in min’ that yore wife is still here, too. 

Pa. Go ahead an’ try yore lovin’ kin’ness a little further, 
an ’ if it don’t work, I’m gonna try my methods, regard¬ 
less uv hide or hair. 

Ma [almost pleadingly]. Now, Thomas, you must wash 
your face, son. George Washington always washed his 
face. 



ONLY AN ONLY CHILD 


47 


Tom. I don’t care if he did. I ain’t George Washington. 
Pa [under his breath]. I’m gonna land on y’ so hard in a 
minit an ’ a ha ’f that y ’ won’t know who y ’ are. 

Ma. But Washington was a mighty great man. Don’t y’ 
want t ’ be like him ? 

Tom. No, I don’t. 

Ma. Why, Thomas! 

Tom. I don’t. Look at th’ kind of britches he wore and 
them girl’s stockin’s, too. An’ look at that long hair. 
That shows he was a sissy, even if he did wash his face. 
Pa. Why, that was th’ style then. He was in th’ height 
uv fashion in his day. 

Tom. Well, fashions have changed an’ customs have, too. 
Pa. They’re gonna change some more, too, ’specially in 
this very house. 

Tom. Ma won’t let you whip me. 

Pa takes off his belt, roughly thrusts Ma aside, and ad¬ 
vances upon Tom. 

Pa. We’ll see about that. I’m gonna be boss in this house 
fer a few minits, if it costs me a lawsuit in Hades. 

Ma [weakly]. Pa! 

Pa [fiercely]. Keep yer mouth shut, Ma, an’ stay right 
where y’ are. I’m gonna make this young villun wash 
his face, or I ’ll raise whelps on ’is back as big as biscuits. 
Tom [subdued]. Don’t whip me, Pa. I ’ll wash. I ’ll wash. 
Tom plunges his face in the water and bathes with a great 
sputtering and splashing. 

Ma [aside]. What on earth has come over Pa? I’ll hafta 
tell ’im about th ’ little graves t ’ tame ’im down, I guess. 
That always works. 

Pa takes down a towel from the wall. 

Pa. Now come over here, young scapegoat, an’ let me dry 
y ’ off. 

Tom. You’ll hurt my sore ear. 

Pa. I’ll hurt y’ worse, if y’ don’t. Come on here! 

Tom advances slowly. Pa seizes him and rubs his hands, 
face, neck and ears briskly. 


48 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Tom [ wriggling ]. Oh-h! Ow-w! Ouch! 

Ma. Don’t be so rough, Pa. No need to twist his head off 
a-dryin’ ’im off. 

Pa [sternly]. Keep yer tongue between yer teeth Ma, if 
y’ don’t want some uv th’ same med’cine. Now, young 
varmit, you go git a com ’ an ’ run it through that hair an ’ 
then come back t’ yer breakfas’. 

Exit Tom willingly. Pa pops the towel at him as he goes. 

Ma. Now, Pa, I want t’ tell y’ somethin’. 

Pa. Maybe I want t’ tell you somethin’, too. 

Ma. This is somethin’ solemn an’ serious an’ sad. 

Pa. What I’ve got t’ say might be classed along th’ same 
line. I’m gonna tell you here an ’ now that that boy has 
got t’ be made mind or the’ll be no doin’ with ’im by 
th’ time he gits much bigger. 

Ma. An’ I want t’ remin’ you uv what th’ doctor told us 
when Thomas was a baby. 

Pa. Aw, t ’ heck with th ’ doctor! 

Ma. Now, Pa, y’ musn’t talk like that. Remember them 
five little graves uv our first-born children. 

Pa [softening]. An’ Thomas is all we’ve got left. 

Ma. An ’ y ’ must remember, Pa, that th ’ doctor said we’d 
hafta be mighty keerful with ’im, if we ever raised ’im. 
Y’ know he said Thomas had a weak heart, like th’ 
others. 

Pa [remorsefully]. Mebbe I was a bit rough with th’ lad. 
But it won’t hurt ’im none t’ mind, Ma. 

Ma. Not if y’ c’n git ’im t’ do it with gentle methods. A 
rough word or sudden shock might mean the death uv 
th’ boy. 

Pa. I’ll be more consid’rate f’m now on in my dealin’s 
with th’ lad; but I’m gonna make ’im mind, if possible. 

Ma. Well, don’t do nothin’ rash, now. 

Reenter Tom. He has his hair combed straight down 
over his eyes. 

Ma [pats Tom’s head]. Now there’s a fine young man. 


ONLY AN ONLY CHILD 


49 


Tom [watching Pa furtively ]. Pa went an’ excited me 
while ago, Ma. I feel nervous. 

Pa. Mebbe Pa was a little rough, son; but set down now 
an’ eat yer breakfas’ an’ le’s fergit all about that. 

They all sit at the table. 

Tom [looks about with a scowl]. I couldn’t git my hair 
combed good, ’cause I was so nervous. 

Ma. Now, see there, Pa. What’d I tell y’? 

Pa. Never mind that now, son. Go ahead an’ eat yer 
breakfas’ an’ y’ll feel better. 

Tom [encouraged to be bolder]. I don’t see nothin’ I want. 

Ma [quickly]. What d’ y’ want, Angel? 

Pa [mildly] . Now, Ma, here’s a-plenty for anybody t ’ eat. 
Don’t go t’ sp’ilin’ ’im, now. 

Ma. You ain’t fit t ’ perscribe. What is it y ’ want, Thomas ? 
Tell Ma an ’ she ’ll git it. 

Tom. I want some—some—mucilage on toast. 

Pa [explosively] . You’ll not git it at this table, sir! 

Ma. Now, Pa, be calm. Why do you want mucilage on 
toast, Thomas? 

Tom. I want it—to keep my tongue from stickin’ out at 
Pa all th’ time. 

Ma. Here’s some toast. Pa, you git th ’ glue off a th ’ shelf 
up there. [Puts foast on Tom’s plate.] 

Pa. I’ll never do it. No child uv mine’ll be aided in any 
sich tom-foolery by an act uv mine. 

Ma. I reckin, then, ye’d ruther see six little crosses where’s 
five, then ? 

Pa [relenting]. But, Ma, that’s scan ’lous an ’ unheared uv. 

Ma. But Pa, he wants it. Le’s not cross ’im or fret ’im 
any more this mornin ’. 

Pa [rises reluctantly]. Well, if ye’re gonna put it like 
that, I’ll git it. 

Pa takes a jar from the shelf which is labeled in bold 
letters “Glue,” but which is filled with white sirup. Re 
pours some over the toast on Tom’s plate. 

Tom. Oh goody, goody! that’s what I wanted a long time. 


50 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Pa [reseating himself]. Jest fer a little I’d order a barrel 
tiv it an ’ stick yer head in it. 

Ma [warningly] . Careful now, Pa. 

Tom. I want Pa to cut it up for me. 

Pa. Cut it up yerse’f. Y’ ain’t tied ner paralyzed, I 
reckin ’. 

Ma. Aw, cut it up fer ’im, Pa. It won’t be much trouble 
an’ it might save his life. 

Pa [takes Tom’s plajte and cuts toast in quarters]. I’d 
’bout as soon not have no son as t ’ have one like this. 

Tom. Ma, I love you more’n I do Pa. 

Pa. Pa don’t keer. [Passes the plate hack to Tom.] <Now, 
you be sure t’ eat ever’ bite uv that stuff. 

Tom looks at the plate thoughtfully. 

Ma. Now*, what’s th’ matter ? Why don’t y’ eat yer toast, 
son? 

Tom. I want Pa t’ take a bite first. 

Pa [jumping up angrily]. I’ll never do it! I’ll wring ’is 
neck first! I won’t have sich a boy on my place! I ’ll be 
hanged if I wfill! That beats all I ever heared uv in all 
my life put together ! Ma, you c’n take a bite uv that 
stuff if y ’ want to; but here’s where I renege. 

Tom. I don’t want Ma to. I want Pa t’ do it. 

Pa [starts for Tom]. I’ll do it! I’ll pull yer head off an’ 
show it to y’. That’s what I’ll do, you young good-for- 
nothing, you! 

Ma [intervening]. Now, Pa! Sit down! If I have t’ 
git y’ by th’ ears again, I’ll do it. 

Pa covers his ears and sits. 

Tom. Give ’em another stretch, Ma! 

Ma. No, I want t’ talk reason first. Now, Pa, jest think 
uv them five little mounds uv our other children. Would 
you delib’rately place Thomas at their side by refusing 
such a small favor? 

Tom. Ma, I’m gittin’ nervous. If Pa don’t take a bite, I 
b’lieve I’m gonna have a spell. 


ONLY AN ONLY CHILD 


51 


Pa. Have it an’ be done with it. I won ’t eat that mess uv 
stuff, if I never see another boy. 

Ma. It won’t hurt y’. Jest take a little bite. Look how 
pale Thomas is. 

Pa. Let ’im be pale. I’d as lief not have no boy as one 
like that. 

Ma. Now, Pa, you don’t mean that. Think how lonesome 
an 9 dreary life’d be fer me an ’ you all alone by ourse ’ves. 
What’d we do ’thout Thomas t ’ cheer us an ’ brighten our 
lives ? 

Pa [relenting]. He is a sight uv comp’ny. 

Ma. Take jest a little bite, Pa. It won’t hurt y’ none an’ 
it might be th’ salvation an’ turnin’ point uv ’is whole 
life in more ways than one. 

Pa [reverently]. I hope he does turn fer th’ better. 

/Tom [gasping]. Ma, I want Pa t’ hurry up. 

Ma [takes a piece of the toast on her fork and offers it to 
Pa] . Here, Pa, quick, take it before he faints. 

Pa [grimaces] . Ugh! That’s an awful dose; but I’ll take 

v it this one time. 

Tom. Te-hee hee hee! Pa ain’t so stuck-up as he thought 
he was; but he will be. 

Pa takes the bread and sirup in his mouth and chews it 
with much grimacing and effort at getting it down. 

Pa [drinks water]. Now, young man, if you pull off 
another tantrum like that—I don’t know what is liable 
t’ happen. I’m liable t’ have a spell m’self. 

Ma. Yes, go on, now, an’ eat yer breakfas’, son. Pa done 
what y’ wanted ’im t’ do. 

Tom. I ain y t gonna do it! He went and took the bite I 
wanted! 

Quick Curtain as Pa keels over backward. 


THE SIX S’s ORGANIZE 

Characters 


Fred Earl 

Perry Frank 

Bert Jerry 


Scene: A barn loft with several bales of hay about. 

Enter Perry. (Note: By rising upright, from a crouch¬ 
ing posture immediately offstage, the entrance of each of 
the characters can be made to appear as though they had 
just climbed up a ladder.) 

Perry [looking about cautiously]. TV coast is clear, 
fellers. C ’mon up. 

Enter Fred. 

Fred. No enemies in sight? 

Perry. None that’s visible t’ th’ naked eye. 


Enter Bert. 

Bert. We better look good in ever’ hole ’n’ corner. 
Enter Earl. 

Earl. Yeah, we must. 


Frank. 

stake. 


Enter Frank. 

We mustn’t take no chances. 

Enter Jerry. 


The’s too much at 


Jerry. No chances fer me, that ain’t nec’sary. 

All go about peering into every hole and corner, even turn¬ 
ing over the bales of hay. 

Bert. I don’t see nothin’ suspicious lookin’, fellers. How 
’bout th’ findin’s uv th’ rest? 


52 



THE SIX S’s ORGANIZE 


53 


Frank. I b’lieve we’re unnoticed and unsuspected. 

Perry. That’s predentically why I told ever’ feller t’ 
come a dif’rent way an’ sep’rate an’ by hisse’f. I didn’t 
want no awe-spicious onlookers t’ know our bizness bet¬ 
ter’n we know it ourse’ves. 

Earl. Well, nobody knows where I am but us six here, an’ 
Heck. 

Fred. Same thing here. An’ I doubt if even that many 
knows th’ full purpose uv th’ meetin’ or what we’re here 
t’ try an accomplice. 

Jerry. I guess you know as much about it as I do. 

Bert. Or me. But I wuz satisfied Perry wouldn’t never 
a-called us out th’ way he did without some good an’ 
valiant reason. 

Frank. That’s just th’ way I felt about it, too; so, soon’s 
I got a chance t’ sneak away f’m home ’thout bein’ 
noticed, I beat it. 

Perry. Be seated, fellers. I’m glad t’ see th’ confidence 
you’ve all bestrowed in me by cornin’ out here t’night 
at my s’licitation ’thout knowin’ what fer. I want t’ 
tell y’ also that th’ confidence which y’all have infested 
in me shall never be abused or b’trayed. 

Earl. Boy, ol’ Perry’s a speecher, ain’t he? 

Bert. He’s a reg ’lar oracter, when he wants t ’ be an ’ tries 
very hard. 

Fred. Le’s hurry up an’ come t’ bizness, fellers. I gotta 
hurry up an’ git back home b’fore I’m discovered absent, 
an’ pronounced missin’. 

Perry. Just what I’m gonna do, Fred. Now t’ git down 
t ’ brass tacks an ’ th ’ bottom uv things, we all know how 
Miss Sanders is a-standin’ in with th’ girls an’ how th’ 
girls is a-givin’ us dirt at ever’ opportunity. 

Bert. I reckin 1 do. 

Frank. Yes, an’ I’m purty well fed up on it, too. 

Earl. An’ me. Nobody ever gits any Merits in our room 
any more, but some girl. 

Jerry. An ’ nobody ever gets any Demerits but some boy. 
It’s altogether too one-sided t’ suit me. 


54 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Fred. I had an idee that wuz th’ motif fer this meeting 

Perry. Well, I d’cided that us six fellers had better git 
our thinkin’ caps on an’ put our heads t’gether t’ device 
mean ways t’ change things up a little. Th’ rest uv them 
dum’ bells in our room ain’t gonna be no he’p to us, so 
we might as well git busy. 

Frank. That’s a fact we all agree with. Why, take Ferdie 
Saltsman, f’r instance; he’s so sissified I bet he looks 
under th’ bed ever’ night before he crawls in it. He 
wouldn’t be no bennyfit t’ th’ cause in makin’ any strat- 
ajams, nor nothin’. • 

Jerry. No, he wouldn’t be no more use than a hole on a 
mole or a wart on a flea. 

Bert. Why, so far as that’s concerned, the’s not enough 
craftiness in th’ rest uv th’ whole bunch t’ ketch a one- 
eyed ’possum that wuz already hulled. 

Jerry. An’ now, what’re we gonna do t’ stop th’ girls 
from tattlin ’, perched up here in this hayloft like a bunch 
uv sparrers on a straw stack ? 

Perry. Why Jerry, I’m s’prised at you! We’re gonna 
organate ourselves into a band an’ co-operize together in 
th’ common cause till we determinate th’ source uv our 
mally-dick-shuns. 

Earl. Atta-boy! Lis ’en at oP Perry sling the langwidge. 

Jerry. Sure, I know that. But what’ll we co-operize on? 
We hafta have some plans t’ go by. 

Earl. Why, le’s form a secret lodge. We c’n have lots uv 
fun an’ accomplice our purposes, too. 

Perry. That’s predentically what I called you fellers 
t’gether fer t’night. 

Fred. What’ll we call our lodge? 

Frank. We c’n think uv plenty uv good names fer it. I 
know a good’n. 

Fred. What ? 

Frank. Th’ Samson Lodge. Samson wuz th’ strongest 
man in th’ worl’. He c’d do anything he wanted to, 
nearly, an’ he never even had his hair cut till just b’fore 
he died an’ that’s how come he got killed. 


THE SIX S’s ORGANIZE 


55 


Bert. An ’ he wuz tattled on by a woman, too, that caused 
it. I think that fits us purty well. 

Jerry. Yes, it does. Th’ Samson Lodge. That sounds 
purty good, don’t it? 

Earl. That is a good idee fer a name; but we want some¬ 
thin’ more impressive than that. 

Frank [hotly]. More impressive than Samson? You 
must surely be gone batty. What’d be any more im¬ 
pressive than ten thousan’ Phillistines, or Phillipines, 
whatever they wuz, that Samson went an’ soaked with 
th’ jaw bone uv an ass? 

Perry. I reckin that’d be ’bout as impressive a scene as 
c’d be seen. Ten thousan’ fellers filled* with beans an’ 
stacked up in a pile. 

Bert. An’ ’bout this tattlin’ an’ tellin’ tales, I guess y’ 
know what Samson done ’bout some tales, don’t y’? 

Earl. No. I don’t. What’d he do? 

Bert. Why, he went an’ set fire t’ three hundred foxes’ 
tails an ’ turned ’em loose in th ’ wheat fields uv th ’ bean- 
eaters, or whatever they wuz, an’ burnt up all their 
wheat. 

Fred. We’ll hafta think uv some kind uv a strat-a-jam 
like that an’ use it on our enemies. 

Earl. Well, I ain’t kickin’ on namin’ our lodge after 
Samson. I think Samson is a good name. But I had 
ref’rence t’ includin’ somethin’ else that’d describe us. 

Jerry. That would be all right, fellers. Say somethin’ 
like “Th’ Sons of Samson.” ’Course we ain’t really 
Samson’s sons, but then we ain’t nobody’s daughters, 
an’ that’d be namin’ our lodge after Samson an’ makin’ 
a ref’rence t’ ourse’ves, too. 

Fred. Now, that’s what I call th’ logical thing fer th’ 
Lodge t’ lodge on fer its name. But as we’re also a 
private an’ secret body, why not say “Th’ Secret Sons of 
Samson?” 

Earl. That makes it sound a little bit like we wuz under 
a cloud. I like th’ word secret if we c’n figger some way 
t’ give a different meanin’ to th’ name as a whole. 


56 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Bert. Well, how ’bout say in’ “TV Sons of Samson’s 
Secret?” 1 

Perry. Say, lis’en, fellers, the’s six uv us in th’ lodge. 
Le’s call ourse’ves “Th’ Solemn an’ Serious an’ Sad 
Sons of Samson’s Secret.” Then we’ll have a word fer 
ever’ member. 

Prank. That makes six S’s. We c’n ’breviate it down t’ 
Th’ Six S Lodge, then, for short. 

Jerry. Wouldn’t it sound better t’ say “The Solemn and 
Serious Sons of Samson’s Sad Secret”? 

Perry. Anybody else got a suggestion t’ make* concernin’ 
th ’ name uv our lodge ? 

Bert. I think th ’ name s ’gested by J erry is hard t ’ beat 
m ’se ’f. 

Earl. Me too. It’s descriptive an’ impressive an’ dignil 
fried, an’ ever’thing else that th’ name uv a important 
secret society orter be. 

Prank. I’m in favor uv adoptin’ it m’se’f. I thought uv 
th’ Samson part. 

Fred. Well, all in favor uv callin’ this organization, “The 
Solemn and Serious Sons of Samson’s Sad Secret,” 
make it known by saying “I.” 

All say “I” except Perry. 

Perry. I’m in favor uv th ’ name all right; but I ain’t in 
favor uv Fred takin’ so much authority by puttin’ a 
question b’fore th’ meetin’. I’m th’ one that called this 
meetin’ an’ I’m gonna be th’ main ram-roddin’ mogul 
uv it. 

Fred. Oh, you are? Maybe we’d better settle that by 
’lectin’ somebody by a vote. 

Jerry. Sure, I’m th’ feller fer th’ place. I got lots uv 
steam an’ push. I’d make a good ramrod. 

Frank. Well, now, bein’s I’m th’ one that thought up 
th’ idee fer th’ Lodge name, I think I’m entitled t’ be th 1 
leader uv it. 

Earl. Maybe you do think so. I don’t, though. I feel 
like when it comes t’ schemin’ schemes an’ plannin 1 


THE SIX S’s ORGANIZE 


57 


strat-a-jams, which is the real object uv our ’sociation, I 
got all uv y’ beat. So therefore I think I deserve t’ be 
called th’ main wilder uv th’ ass’s jawbone. 

Bert. You work your jawbone enough all right. I want 
t’ tell y ’ all somethin’, howsomever, that immediately an’ 
unquestionably entitles me t’ be th’ main stem-winder 
in this chapter uv “Th’ Solemn an’ Serious Sons uv 
Samson’s Sad Secret.” I s’pose all uv y’ knowed that 
my dad had a uniform in th’ Knights uv Cold lumber, 
didn’t y’? I c’d git it fer our meetin’s an’ it’d be a 
credit an’ extinction t’ th’ order t’ have a presidin’ 
officer dressed up in a uniform. 

Fred. Well, I’m not so contrary or se’f-admirin’ m’se’f. 
Of course, I’d be mighty glad t’ git honored with th’ 
position; but I’m willin’ t’ let th’ gang vote on who they 
want. 

Jerry. That’s a noble spirit, Fred. I join in with you in 
callin’ fer a vote. 

Frank. Yeah, le’s vote. 

Earl. Le’s vote by secert ballot, so’s nobody won’t know 
how anybody else voted. 

Perry. Huh! You votin’ fer y’se’f won’t do y’ no good. 
I’m gonna be th ’ president uv this lodge an ’ I ain’t even 
gonna vote. 

Bert. Wait till th’ votin’s over, why don’t y’, Perry? 

Jerry. Ever’body make their own ballot an’ write th’ 

name uv their choice fer president on it. 

All produce pencils and slips of paper on which they write, 
with the exception of Perry. 

Fred. Le’s put all th’ ballots in Perry’s hat an’ let him 
announce th’ result. He orter have that much consid¬ 
eration fer callin’ th’ meetin’. 

Bert. I’m gonna look at ever’ ballot, too. 

Perry takes off his hat and collects the ballots in it. 

Perry. That suits me. Y’ c’n all look, if y’ want to. Th’ 
result is gonna be in my favor, just th’ same. 


58 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Earl. You talk mighty confident before th’ votes is even 
counted. 

Frank. That’s what I say, and him not votin’ either. 

Perry. Just wait and see, is all I say. 

Jerry. Call out th’ votes an’ let us see. 

Perry. This vote is cast fer Fred. Thought you didn’t 
keer much who got it, Fred. 

Fred. I didn’t say I wouldn’t have it, though. 

Perry. This one says, ‘ ‘ Jerry. ’ ’ 

Jerry. One an’ one fer me an’ Fred. 

Perry. This one is fer Bert. 

Bert [who has been looking at each ballot called out]. 
That’s right. 

Perry. Here’s one fer Frank. 

Frank. One more an ’ I ’ll have it. 

Perry. And th ’ last one is fer Earl. 

Earl. All uv us got one vote but Perry. 

Jerry. That makes a tie, fer us five. 

Perry. You’re right, Earl. There is a tie an’ inasmuch 
as I never voted in th’ first place I git t’ d’cide th’ tie. 

Fred. You know me, Perry. I said t’ give you credit fer 
callin’ th’ meetin’. Vote fer me. 

Perry. Now I’m gonna d’cide this in a manner that’s fair 
an’ square fer one an’ all. Y’all wanted t’ vote an’ I 
let y’ vote. Y’ all tied up an’ me not votin’ in th’ first 
place, I git t’ untie y’. So I now decide in favor of 
Perry Winters. Now it’s too late t’ consider any plans 
t’ git even with Miss Sanders an’ th’ girls t’night, so 
I’m gonna adjourn th’ meetin’ till t’morrow night, when 
we ’ll meet here with more time an ’ opportunity t ’ accom¬ 
plice some good fer our cause. (Makes a splendid bow.) 
Good night t’ ever’body from th’ President an’ Founder 
uv Chapter Number One of The Solemn and Serious Sons 
of Samson’s Sad Secret. 


curtain 


THE SIX S’s HOLD A SESSION 


This may be used, either as a consecutive act for THE SIX S’s 
ORGANIZE, or as a complete and individual play. 


Characters 


Frank 

Earl 

Fred 


Perry 

Jerry 

Bert 


Scene : A hayloft. The bales of hay have been arranged 
along each side of the stage and on the Rear, for seats. Two 
bales are made into an altar at the Center. [Sacks of feed 
may be used instead of the hay if the latter is not available.] 
Two lanterns afford light. 

Discovered: Perry and Bert arranging seats at Right of 


stage , 


Perry. Time we add to an’ c’lect a little bit more, we’re 
gonna have a swell an’ up t’ date lookin’ lodge hall. It 
don’t look so bad as it is. 

Bert. No, it don’t. If I hadn’t a-been afraid Ma’d a got 
suspicious this ev’nin’ when we left, I c’d a-brought some 
things from home that’d be lots uv benefit an’ look mighty 
good up here. 

Perry. What’ve you got we c’d use, Bert ? 

Bert. I reckin Gran’pa’s ol’ Civil War s’ord’d be a credit 
t ’ any lodge room’s pair-uv-flat-nail-heads, wouldn’t it ? 

Perry. To be sure it would. Do y’ ’spose y’ c’d git it, 
though? is th’ nex’ question. 

Bert. Sure, Mike, I c’n git it. I’ll sneak it out some day 
’an fetch it over. 

Perry. I wisht y’ would. Just think uv havin’ a real 
honest t’ sure ’nough saber in our meetin’ hall. 

Bert. We’ll hafta be awful keerful with it, though. It’s 
as sharp as a ol’ maid’s tongue, an’ somebody might git 
ampytated with it. 


59 


60 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Perry. We won’t ’low nobody t’ han’le it. We’ll just 
use it fer ornamental an’ sacrilegious purposes. 

Bert. All right, then, I’ll sneak it out th’ first chance I 
git at it. 

Perry. Do that, Bert, an’ I ’ll see that you git a position uv 
honor in th’ org’nization as a reward fer your d’votion. 

Enter Fred [as described in opening of the series ]. 

Fred. H ’y, fellers. 

Perry. H ’lo, Fred. 

Bert. H ’y there. 

Fred. Nobody here yit but you two? 

Bert. Not ’nless y’ count y’rse’f somebody. 

Fred. You know what I meant. 

Perry. I guess th ’ others ’ll be here purty pronto. I think 
ever’body understood last night that we wuz t’ meet 
again t’night. 

Fred. Yeah, they’ll all be here if they can git away from 
home. 

Bert. I hear somebody dim’in’ th’ ladder now. 

Enter Frank [according to usual manner]. 

Frank [looks about, then whistles in surprise]. Say, this 
is some swell lodge hall, ain’t it ? 

Perry. ’Course it is. What’d y’ think we organated las’ 
night, a girls’ dolly club? 

Fred. Who fixed all this up so keen ? 

Bert. I and th’ President and Founder there. 

Perry. Yeah, we fixed it. I went by an’ asked his dad t’ 
let ’im come home with me after school, an’ we worked 
th’ whole ev’nin’. 

Frank. Gosh, it sure looks swell. 

Enter Earl, followod by Jerry. 

Earl and Jerry. H’y, fellers. 

Others. II ’y, fellers. 

Perry. Say, didn’t I tell ever ’body t ’ come by hisself an ’ 
not bring nobody with ’im? 


THE SIX S’s HOLD A SESSION 


61 


Earl. We did. I come in th’ barn at one end an’ met 
Jerry cornin’ in at th’ other. 

Jerry. Hones’ we did. We met right at th’ bottom nv th’ 
ladder, an’ he come on up it first an’ then I follered ’im. 

Perry. Well, now, we don’t want nobody ’t see a whole 
gang cornin’ in or leavin’ this place. This bizness has got 
t ’ be kep ’ secret, if we ’spect t ’ ’complice anything. 

J erry. Well, y ’all know me. I ’m as secret as a bald Jieaded 
bachelor com’in’ out his wig. 

Perry. All right, then, we’ll pass that up an’ open our 
meetin’ at once. 

Earl. Ain’t we gonna have no Rachel ? 

Frank. Rachel ? Rachel who ? 

Bert. Say, feller, this is a lodge room. It ain’t no bar- 
barium Turk’s harem. 

Earl. I know it; but we need a Rachel in our lodge, 
same’s any other lodge needs one. 

Fred. I thought we was organated fer th ’ sole an ’ express 
purpose uv combatlin’ th’ wimmen. An’ here you are 
askin’ fer one t’ come in our midst. 

Jerry. What’s gone through you, Earl ? We don’t want no 
Rachel nor Rebecca, nor no other somebody in dresses, in 
th’ Six S’s. 

Earl. I’m sorry if you fellers misunderstood me. I ain’t 
no more in favor uv introducin’ any such pollination in 
our midst as a woman, than anybody else. 

Frank. You better retrack what y’ said, then, about 
longin ’ an ’ pinin ’ fer this here Rachel girl you’s talking 
’bout so much. 

Earl. Let me explain this matter t ’ th ’ meetin ’. 

Perry. You better explain it. You’re li’ble t’ lose your 
membership in this order an’ git ostrich-eyes from our 
midst, if y’ don’t. 

Earl. It’s easy t’ explain what I meant. I meant that we 
needed some sort uv a form uv progr’m t’ go by in our 
meetin’. Ever lodge has one uv its own, an’ we orter 
have one, too. 

Perry. So that’s what a Rachel is. We all owe you ’n 


62 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


apology fer th’ false instruction we placed on your words. 

Bert. I r’member hearin’ my dad mention th’ Rachel in 
th’ Knights of Cold-lumber that he b’longs to, now. 

Fred. Well, let’s git us one too, then. 

Frank. Where’ll we git one? Order it? Maybe we c’d 
borry one some’res. 

Jerry. Why no, we’ll hafta make one ourselves. We want 
somethin ’ nobody won’t know nothin ’ about but us. 

Bert. I an’ th’ President has already got one started. We 
hadn’t thought uv th’ name fer it, though. 

Perry. Sure, we got a purty good Rachel t’ start on, I 
think. I ’ll show y ’all what we’ve got. 

Perry goes to the “altar,” where he takes up six copies 
of a “song.” 

Frank. Didn’t y ’ git no outside he ’p on it ? Didn’t copy 
none outa no books ? 

Bert. No siree, we never. We made it all up right out uv 
our heads. That’s what we done. Why, I reckin if we’s 
t ’ try real hard, we c’d might ’ nigh write a book. 

Perry passes out the sheets of paper. 

Perry. Here, look this over, ever’body, an’ see what y’ 
think about it fer a op’nin’ song. 

Fred. A song? 

Jerry. Did y’ compose th’ music fer it an’ all? 

Bert. No, it’s th’ same tune as “America,” but we made 
up th’ words to it. 

Earl. It’s got a fine sentyment. 

Fred. It is a corker. We ought to sing it in school t ’morrer. 
I bet Miss Sanders’d git ashamed an’ treat us better, if 
we did. 

Earl. No, not in school. If we use this as part of our 
Rachel, we mustn’t divulge it to no human person. We’re 
not s’posed t’ reveal none uv our secret work. 

Fred. That is right, I forgot about that. 

Bert. Well, now, it might be a good idee t’ sing this fer 
Miss Sanders an ’ th ’ girls in our room. It might make an 
impression on ’em that would be producive uv lots uv 
good. 


THE SIX S’s HOLD A SESSION 


63 


Perry. An’ we c’d make up something else fer th’ Rachel. 

Jerry. Why, sure, an’ that wouldn’t be exposin’ no secrets 
a-tall, then. 

Frank. Le’s do sing it. That’d be a sort uv warnin’ to ’em 
t ’ beware, an ’ then if they didn’t take no heed to it, we 
c’d use ’most any kind uv a strong measure with ’em an’ 
not have no bad conscience. 

Bert. How ’bout it, Mr. President? We c’d let ’em know 
who made it up, too. 

Perry. I ’m in favor uv singin ’ it t ’ th ’ school m ’se ’f. W e ’ll 
leave it to a vote, though, an’ if ever’body’s in favor uv 
it, we ’ll make up somethin ’ else fer th ’ Rachel. 

Fred. Le’s vote. 

Perry. All in favor uv singin’ this song t’ th’ school to- 
morrer, make it known by sayin ’ “ I. ” 

All cry “I.” 

Perry. It is agreed, then, that we’ll sing this song b’fore 
th’ school. 

Jerry. Miss Sanders might not let us. 

Frank. Yes, she will. She won’t know what it’s gonna be 
an’ as she’s allays wantin’ somebody t’ entertain th’ 
room, she ’ll give us permission, if we ask ’er. 

Bert. I b’lieve she will, too. I’ll do th’ askin’, an’ also tell 
who made it up. 

Perry. All right, we ’ll delegate you to do that. 

Earl. Le’s practice on it, then, so’s we c’n sing it right off 
without no troble. 

Frank. We c’n do that b’fore we leave. But le’s fix up a 
Rachel now. 

Jerry. We need t’ have a password first. Nobody hadn’t 
mentioned that. 

Earl. That’s a fact'. I had forgotten that. 

Jerry. I know a good password. 

Perry. What is it? 

Jerry [looks about cautiously and lowers his voice]. Raw 
Head an’ Bloody Bones. 

Earl. That’s not dignifried, Jerry. 


64 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


J erry. Aw, what do we keer ’bout dignif ried ? This ain’t 
no 01’ Maids’ Sewin’ Circle, is it? Why, we are named 
after th’ world’s greatest cave man, an’ I bet he never 
stood on ’is dignity while he wuz a laying’ out them 
bean-eaters or pullin’ that lion’s jaws apart. 

Frank. That’s all a fac ’ Jerry; but I’m like Earl. I think 
our password ought t’ reflec’ more uv th’ elevated an’ 
slacklime. 

Perry. Th ’ meetin ’ is open t ’ s ’gestions now. Speak up if 
the’s any more idees in th’ house. 

Bert. I feel like I’ve got th ’ idee that we need fer a pass¬ 
word. 

Fred. Pour out yer heart, Bert. 

Bert. We ought t’ figger out some way t’ use th’ name uv 
our lodge. We got a word fer each member in it an’ all, so 
we orter make our password harmonize if we can. 

Fred. Why, that’s easy t’ do. Let ever’ member take one 
word uv th’ lodge name an’ use it as his individual pass- 4 
word. 

Perry. That’s a good s ’gestion. All in favor uv that, make 
it known by sayin’“I.” 

All say “I.” 

Bert. But now that we’ve d’cided t’ use th’ words uv our 
lodge name as individual passwords, how we gonna know 
who ’ll use which word ? 

Fred. Number ourselves an ’ take th ’ word that corresponds 
t’ th’ number each one got. 

Perry. Another good idee, Fred. Seems like you ’re gittin ’ 
full uv ’em all at once. 

Frank. Seems t ’ me like he’s emptyin’ ’em out purty fast. 

Perry. Well, I’m th’ President, I’ll be Number One an’ 
take Solemn an’ Bert c’n be Number Two. 

Earl. I been noticin’ ever’ since we been here you kinda 
give Bert th’ pref’rence over th’ rest uv us. How come 
him any better ’n anybody else ? 

Bert. I’m gonna do somethin ’ fer th ’ order, that ’s why. 

Jerry. All uv us is gonna do that, I reckin. 

Perry. Not like what Bert’s gonna do. 


THE SIX S’s HOLD A SESSION 


65 


Earl. Well, what is it that he’s gonna do that’s so great 
an’ grand? 

Perry. You c’n tell ’em, Bert. 

Bert [proudly]. I’m gonna bring my Gran’pa’s ol’ Civil 
War s’ord up here as part uv th’ pair-o-flat-nail-heads uv 
th’ lodge room. 

Perry. I ’ve ’pointed him as my A. D. Camp fer it, too. 

Frank. Where d ’y ’ git that name ? 

Bert. Guess y ’ never heard uv George Washington, did y ’ ? 

Frank. Don’t try t’ kid nobody, now. 

Perry. Did you ever hear of a Frenchman named Jean 
Paul Ives Roshay de Marky de La Fayette ? 

Fred. Sure, I have. 

Frank. That wuz one uv Washington’s staff generals. 

Perry. You are right. 

Earl. I don’t see what that has got t’ do with callin’ Bert 
what y’ did. 

Perry. Well, th’ Americans couldn’t all pronounce La 
Fayette’s full name very well, so Washington changed it 
an’ just called him his A. D. Camp. So that’s what Bert 
is t ’ me. Any objections to it ? 

Fred. Oh well, that’s all fine. Why ’nt y ’ tell us b ’fore ? 

Perry. It is settled, then, that I’m Number One an’ Bert 
is Number Two. Does it make any difference to th’ rest 
uv y ’ what numbers y ’ take ? 

Frank. No. You number us. 

Perry. All right. Frank ’ll be Number Three, Fred Num¬ 
ber Four, Earl Number Five an’ Jerry Number Six. 

Jerry. I’m last but not least. 

Perry. Now, let’s say our passwords in th’ rotation in 
which they come. “The Solemn—” 

Bert. “And Serious—” 

Frank. “Sons—” 

Fred. “Of Samson’s—” 

Earl. “Sad—” 

Jerry. “Secret.” 

Perry. That sounds purty good. We’ll include this in th’ 
Rachel from now on as a reglar thing. 

Fred. Say, it’s gittin’ late. We better go home. 




66 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Perry. Not ’till we practice our song. 

Earl. I fergot that. 

Bert. Le’s sing it an’ go. Wec’n finish np th’ Rachel later 
or when we got more time. 

Perry. Take th’ copies I give ever’body, then, an’ we’ll 
sing. 

All [sing the following to the tune of America ]. 

As brothers we all met, 

(Not one a teacher’s pet) 

In peace last night. 

’Cause teacher’s hard to please; 

She whips us if w r e sneeze; 

While girls laugh up their sleeves 
At our sad plight. 

We hardly think it fair, 

That all the blame we bear 
And girls go free. 

We know we oft pursue 
The things we should not do; 

But girls can do wrong too, 

As well as we. 

The tattlers we despise 
More’n anything ’neath the skies 
On land or sea. 

They’ve dealt us pain and woe 
That none but we can know; 

But to them soon we’ll show 
Some misery. 


CURTAIN 


THE SIX S’s IN ACTION 


Bert 

Earl 

Perry 

Fred 

Frank 

Jerry 


Characters 


dhe original members of the Six S’s 


Miss Sanders, their teacher 
Alice 1 

Ella >alleged teacher’s pets 

Violet J 


Ferdie, a disliked sissy 
Boys and Girls, other pupils 


Scene: Miss Sanders’ classroom 


Enter Perry and Bert. 

Bert. I b ’lieve it’s gonna work like a charm. 

Perry. I do too. Soon as Mr. Black sees that card an’ 
reads what’s on it, he’s gonna start wond’rin’ who in 
th’ world “Miss Sanderses Committee uv Three” is. 

Bert. We’ll be snre t’ he’p him find out when he comes in 
our room t’ investigate, too. 

Perry. Won’t we, though? Reckin we better tell th’ rest 
uv th ’ Six S’s what’s up ? 

Bert. Better not tell ’em ever’thing yit. We c’n give ’em' 
t’ un’erstan’ who th’ Committee uv Three is, so in case 
any uv ’em wuz called on t’ an’ser any questions, they’d 
know who t’ desi’nate. 

Perry. That’s a good idee, Bert. We c’n stay on th’ safe 
side in that way an’ hand th’ girls a package o’ misery at 
th’ same time. 

Bert. I wouldn’t mind much t’ see Ferdie Gibbons giti 
some uv it with th ’ girls. 


67 



68 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Perry. Well, he is a-nawful sissy and a terrible nuisance; 
but I don’t know as I’d want t’ see ’im come t’ grief like 
I do th’ girls. He never causes us th’ trouble that Alice, 
Ella an’ Violet cause. 

Bert. Well, ’course they are th’ main ones we got a grudge 
against, but I’m tellin’ y’ frankly, I ain’t got no great 
love for Ferdie. 

Perry. Miss Sanders won’t be apt t’ name Ferdie on th’ 
Committee if she thinks it’s some honor, which I’m sure 
she will. She can’t endure Ferdie sometimes, herse’f. 

Bert. Mr. Black won’t likely come in our room—he’ll 
just send word by some one, as he usually does, that th’ 
Committee uv Three is wanted in his office. 

Perry. And it will be our part t’ let on like we are sure 
some honor is gonna be extended t’ whoever it is, an’ 
Miss Sanders ’ll do th’ rest. 

Bert. Why, sure she will. She can’t miss selecting her 
three pets to receive th’ honors. 

Perry. They may not feel quite so honored an’ exalted 
when they tell Mr. Black that they’re th’ duly delegated 
members uv the Committee of Three. 

Enter Ferdie. 

Ferdie. Good morning, boys. 

Perry. Why, good morning, Tessie—I mean Ferdie. 

Bert [extravagantly]. How are you, my dear? 

Both Bert and Perry bow very low to Ferdie. 

Ferdie [seriously]. I’m quite well, thank you. Do you 
both find yourselves in health? 

Bert [mimicking]. Oh no, I regret to say that I do not, 
my dear. I am quite ill. 

Ferdie. You need not call me your dear, Bert; but what 
seems to be your ailment? 

Perry [catching Bert's spirit of mischief] . O Tess—I 
mean Ferdie, I am quite alarmed about him. Won’t you 
come feel his pulse? 

Ferdie. What is wrong with you, Bert? 


THE SIX S’s IN ACTION 


69 


Bert. Oh, I’m afraid I ’ve got a pain across my misery. 
Ferdie. You ought to he ashamed. 

Perry. Ain’t that just too bad, Tess— I mean Ferdie? 
Ferdie. Why do you keep getting my name confused so 
much with Tessie? 

Perry. Oh, I don’t know, unless it’s because you remind 
me so much of some one I knew by that name. 

Ferdie. I don’t think you boys are nice. 

Bert. You don’t say it, really ? 

Ferdie. You are both very rude and insulting. 

Perry. Oh horrors! 

Ferdie. I ’m going out to find the girls and play with them. 
They aren’t rude to me like you boys. 

Exit Ferdie, head high in air. 

Bert [waving]. By-by, Ferdie! 

Perry [blowing a &iss]. Ta, ta, old sweet thing! 

Enter Earl and Fred. 

Earl. What’s a matter with Sister Ferdie? 

Fred. We met ’im outside an’ he wouldn’t even look at 
us, much less speak. 

Perry. I think he was suffering from a mental shock ’cause 
Bert told ’im ’bout havin’ th’ ind’gestion. 

Fred. Well, he was certainly on a high horse about it. He 
had his head clear back between his shoulder blades. 
Perry. The’s somethin’ I want t’ tell you fellers, too. 
[Looks all about cautiously.] 

Earl [waving him away]. Gwan. We don’t wanta hear 
what’s th’ matter with you, now. Do we, Fred? 

Fred. No, I reckin I don’t feel int’rested. [Turns away 
as if to leave.] 

Bert [seriously]. But this is really somethin’ important. 
It concerns th’ Six S’s. 

Fred and Earl become alert at mention of the Six S’s. 

Perry. Th’ Lodge is gonna evidence itself an’ make mani¬ 
fest its power, so I wanta post y ’all on what t ’ do. 

Earl [eagerly]. What is it? 


70 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Fred. Tell us, then. 

Perry. Well, the’s li’ble t’ be somethin’ said or done ’bout 
a Committee of Three in our room this mornin’ an’.— 

Fred [gleefully]. An’ me’n Earl’s gonna be on it? 

Bert [emphatically]. Not on yer tintype. An’ what’s 
more, none uv th ’ rest uv th ’ Six S’s is gonna be on it. 

Perry. We don’t want to be on it. Whatever goes or 
comes, to the best of your knowledge, th’ Committee of 
Three is made up of Alice, Ella and Violet. 

Earl. The teacher’s pets! 

Fred. What’s th’ Committee fer? 

Perry. Don’t ask too many questions, now. Just remem-' 
ber what I said, an’ if Mr. Black should happen t’ ask 
y’ ’bout th’ Committee, tell ’im th’ girls’ names. 

Bert. Fer th’ good uv th’ order, it’s best not t’ divulge 
ever’thing yit. 

Enter Miss Sanders with Alice, Ella and Violet cling¬ 
ing to her lovingly. 

Ella. Do tell us a story, Miss Sanders. 

Miss Sanders. I don’t think of any story just now that is 
worth telling, girls. 

Alice. Tell one you’ve already told, then, if you can’t 
think of any more. 

Violet. We’d like to hear it again. 

Ella. You tell the most interestingest stories, Miss Sand¬ 
ers. I just love to hear them. 

Miss Sanders. You shouldn’t try to flatter me so, Ella. 

Ella. But that’s the truth, Miss Sanders. 

Alice. We like to hear your stories better than those of 
anyone I know. 

Miss Sanders. I fear you will make me quite vain if you 
keep on in such a complimentary manner. 

During the above conversation , the boys have withdrawn 
to the rear of the room , where they listen with marked 
disgust written upon their faces. 

Alice. Recite some poetry for us, then, Miss Sanders. 

Ella. Oh yes, do. 


THE SIX S's IN ACTION 


71 


Violet. Please do, Miss Sanders. I just adore poetry. I 
think it is so cute. 

At this the boys exchange glances then resort to the 
well known gesture of stroking the chin , then giving the 
hand a sling as if to rid it of something.* 

Miss Sanders. Some other time, perhaps, I will. 

Violet. Do, now, Miss Sanders, or we’ll think you don’t 
like us any more. 

Enter Ferdie. 

Ferdie. Do what, Violet? 

Violet ignores Ferdie’ s question. 

Ferdie. Miss Sanders, what is it they want you to do? 
Tell me, Miss Sanders. 

Miss Sanders. They asked me to tell a story or recite some 
poetry for them, but I am hardly in the mood for either, 
just now. 

Ferdie [enthusiastically] . Oh, let me, then. I can. 1 
just love to recite and tell stories. 

Miss Sanders. Why, I have no objection, Ferdie. Recite 
all you care to, if you like. 

Ferdie [in thoughtful attitude]. All right, let me see. 
What shall I recite ? Let me think of something real good. 

Enter Jerry and Frank. 

Jerry. What’s wrong with ice cream an’ chalklit cake? 

Frank. Or how’d peanut-butter fudge suit y’r taste? 

Ferdie [haughtily]. I was trying to think of something 
good to recite, and I can manage perfectly well enough 
without any of your suggestions. 

Frank. Oh well, we wasn’t gonna charge y nothin . 

Jerry. We named over somethin’ good t’ eat, ’cause we 
thought that was what any real boy’d have in mind when 
he said real good. 

Frank. An’ if yoir’re gonna recite, th’ mention uv ice 
cream an’ cake orter be a help to y’, anyway. 

Ferdie. I don’t see why. 


72 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Frank. Why, ’cause it’ll make yer mouth water. 

Ferdie. What’s the good of that? 

Frank. To keep yer tongue from stickin’ like it did that 
time you tried t’ sing a solo at church. 

Ferdie. Miss Sanders, they have tormented me so that I 
don’t believe•! can recite on account of my wits being 
so scattered. 

Jerry. His wits has scattered, Miss Sanders. Le’s send 
fer some cowboys t’ round ’em up again. 

Miss Sanders. Don’t mind, Ferdie. Go on and recite, if 
you can think of anything. They only meant to tease you. 

Violet. I think they ought to be ashamed to frustrate 
Ferdie so. 

Frank. We never first-rated ’im. If he’s first-rated, we 
didn’t even know it. 

Alice. Oh, just because they couldn’t recite, they are 
jealous of Ferdie. 

Miss Sanders. It does seem that some of the boys are en¬ 
vious of Ferdie, for some cause or other. 

Jerry. No ma’am! He ain’t got nothin’that I’d have. 

Bert beckons to Jerry and Frank, but they disregard 
him. 

Frank. An ’ he don’t do nothin ’ but what I’d be ashamed 
t’ be guilty of, so we ain’t envious of him. 

Ferdie. Miss Sanders, I can’t think of a thing to recite. 
What would you do if you were in my shoes? 

Bert. If 1 wuz in ’em, I’d point ’em to’ards th’ door an’ 
start ’em t’ locomotin’ in high. 

Ella. Miss Sanders, haven’t you thought of something to 
recite or tell us, by now ? 

Miss Sanders [smiling]. No, I haven’t. I’m just a little 
bit afraid that my wits have scattered, too. I am worried 
about a phone call which I received before I left home. 
[She looks at her watch.] There is hardly time for any¬ 
thing of the sort, now, anyway. It is almost time for 
the bell to ring. 

Alice. Miss Sanders, may Violet, Ella and I go dust the 
erasers, before it rings ? 


THE SIX S’s IN ACTION 


73 


’Miss Sanders. You wouldn’t have time, girls. I want you 
in the room for something else, besides. 

Perry [exasperated]. Come here, Frank, you an’ Jerry, 
too. 

Frank and Jerry start toward him; but a bell rings on¬ 
stage, before they reach the other group of boys. Everyone 
goes to a seat. The extra pupils enter at this point, and 
take seats, too. 

Ella. Now, Miss Sanders, what did you want with us? 
Miss Sanders. I wanted you girls, and the rest of the pu¬ 
pils in the room, to hear what I have to tell you from 
Mr. Black. 

Perry waves his hand energetically for a permission. 
Miss Sanders. What is it, Perry? 

Perry. C’n I speak t’Jerry ? 

Miss Sanders. Is that the way you ask a permission? 
Perry. May I speak t ’ J erry, then ? 

DIAGRAM OF STAGE AND SEATING OF PUPILS IN ROOM 




O 

o 



02 


STAGE FRONT 






















74 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Miss Sanders. Is it so important that you can’t wait until 
I have finished what I had started to say ? 

Bert. It’s purty important, Miss Sanders. Please let ’im 
speak. 

Miss Sanders [surprised]. Why, how do you know, Bert? 

Bert [confused]. Why I— er— a— I know it is. 

Miss Sanders. Are you a mind reader, then, that you know 
what Perry wishes to say to Jerry? 

Bert [more confused]. Yes’m. No’m. But yes’m, I know 
what he wants to get. 

Perry [to the rescue]. I gotta splinter in my finger an’ 1 
wanta get my knife f’m Jerry t’ pick it out. 

Jerry [surprised]. Why, I ain’t— [Perry signals fran¬ 
tically to him to say no more. Jerry stops short then 
finishes lamely.] Ain’t got nothin’ else but th’ very 
thing t’ git that splinter out. 

Miss Sanders. But I am afraid that a knife might cause hn 
infection, Perry. Here, I think I have a needle some¬ 
where about my desk. [Searches for it.] Come, let me 
get the splinter with this needle. 

During this time Fred, Earl and Bert pantomime vig¬ 
orously to Frank and Jerry as if trying to inform them 
that Alice, Ella and Violet are to be designated as the 
Committee of Three. They hold up three fingers and 
point significantly to the girls. Frank and Jerry shake 
their heads in bewilderment. 

Perry. I’d ruther use my knife, Miss Sanders. 

Miss Sanders. But Perry, I’m afraid you will infect your 
finger by picking the splinter with your knife. 

Bert. Aw, ’taint in ’is finger, Miss Sanders. There ain’t 
no danger uv blood poison. 

Perry [with a silly grin]. Ah— er— a— did I say it was 
in my finger ? I didn’t, did I ?— I wonder what’s wrong 
with me anyhow. It ain’t in my finger at all. There ain’t 
no danger uv blood poison. 

Miss Sanders. Why do you act so strangely, Perry ? Are 
you ill? 


THE SIX S’s IN ACTION 


75 


Bert. Aw, it’s that splinter, Miss Sanders. It’s makin’ 
’im kinda deleterious. Y’ better let ’im speak t’ Jerry 
an’ get ’is knife t’ get it out. 

Miss Sanders [ determinedly ]. I hardly think he needs a 
knife. I doubt that he really wants one. 

Perry. Yes’m, I do, too. I want— 

Miss Sanders. Perhaps we shall see. I mean to get to the 
bottom of this before I stop. Jerry! 

Jerry [startled]. Yes’m. 

Miss Sanders. Do you have Perry’s knife ? 

Jerry [starts to shake his head , but catches a glimpse of 
Bert nodding vigorously and significantly]. Yes’m, I 
got it. 

Miss Sanders [quietly]. Bring it here, then. 

J erry [in consternation] . Ma ’am ? 

Miss Sanders. I said, bring the knife to me. 

Jerry sits in motionless bewilderment. 

Miss Sanders. Do you hear me, Jerry? 

Jerry [vacantly]. Yes’m. What’d y’ say? 

Miss Sanders. I said for you to bring the knife to me, if 
you have it. 


Jerry sits as if petrified . 

Miss Sanders [sharply] . Will you bring me that knife, or 
must I be forced to come after it ? 

Jerry [springing up]. Oh, I will! You needn’t come after 
it, Miss Sanders. [Feels in 'his pockets in a frantic 
manner.] But— but I ain’t got it! 

Miss Sanders. You just told me that you had it. 

Jerry [alarmed]. Yes’m. Bu-but I lost it. 

While Jerry is standing and Miss Sanders has her atten- 
tention directed toward him, Perry ostentatiously slips 
his knife to Bert, who passes it to Fred. Fred hands it 
on to Frank, who opens it and sticks it in the toe of his 
shoe sole and awaits an opportunity to thrust it up to 
Jerry. 


76 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


Miss Sanders. Well, well, that is too bad. So you really 
lost it, did you, Jerry? 

Jerry [gulping]. Yes’m, I lost it. 

Miss Sanders. Where did you lose it ? 

Bert. I reckin if he knowed that, he’d ’a’ found it soon’s 
he lost it. 

Miss Sanders. You keep quiet, Bert. We need none of 
your assistance in this matter. 

Earl [aside]. Somebody’s gonna need assistance purty 
soon. 

Miss Sanders turns to Bert and Frank sticks his foot 
past Ferdie and pokes the knife into Jerry’s hand. 

Jerry [with great relief] . Ah-h-h! 

Miss Sanders [turning to him again] . What is it, Jerry ? 

Jerry. I found the knife. 

Boys all heave a sigh of relief, too. 

Miss Sanders. Really? How remarkable! 

Fred. He’s good at findin’ things, Miss Sanders. He 
found a bumblebee on a buttercup one day. 

Miss Sanders. No facetiousness, now, Fred. 

Fred. Well, I reckin he never took a seat on its nest! 

Miss Sanders. How did you happen to find the knife so 
suddenly, Jerry? 

Jerry. Well, ’m I was just a-standin’ there concentratin’ 
on what I wanted to have in my hand more than anything 
else in the world, when all at once I felt somethin’ an’ it 
was th’ knife. 

Miss Sanders. An altogether remarkable happening and a 
very fortunate one for you, too, young man. 

Frank. He was born lucky, wasn’t he, Miss Sanders ? 

Miss Sanders. It would seem so. I thought I had him 
trapped in a lie; but circumstances which I do not quite 
understand have-vindicated him for the time being. Be 
seated, Jerry. I may yet get to the bottom of this per¬ 
formance. 

Jerry sits, willingly enough. The boys exchange glances 
of uneasiness. 


THE SIX S’s IN ACTION 


77 


Miss Sanders. Perry. 

Perry [squirming], Yes’m. 

Miss Sanders. Did you not say that you wanted your knife 
to get out a splinter ? 

Perry [confused]. No, ma’am, I did not say it, that is, I 
mean I did say I did. 

Miss Sanders. You wanted to get out a splinter ? 

Perry. Oh, yes’m. 

Miss Sanders. And nothing would do but your knife ? 

Perry [in doubt]. Well, I believe I said that I’d ruther 
have my knife than a needle. 

Miss Sanders [relentlessly]. You didn’t want a needle, 
then, which is considerably more convenient and alto¬ 
gether more free from the possibility of infection ? 

Perry. Let it go, Miss Sanders. I don’t b’lieve I need 
either one uv ’em. 

Miss Sanders. But I mean to get to the bottom of this be- 

f fore I let it go. Now, however, on one condition, I 
might— 

Perry [eagerly interrupting]. What’s that? 

Miss Sanders. If you really and truly wanted to get out 
a splinter— 

Perry. It’s out, now, Miss Sanders. 

Miss Sanders. Another remarkable occurrence! How did 
you get it out ? 

Perry. Oh — a— it— a— just came out. 

Miss Sanders. Now see here, Perry, I was just ready to 
ask you in what part of your anatomy a splinter could 
lodge that it would allow no chance of blood poisoning— 

Perry [mopping his brow]. Miss Sanders, I b’lieve I’m 
gonna swoon. 

Miss Sanders. I shouldn’t wonder that you did. First, 
you have a splinter that won’t infect and then it comes 
out without being picked. 

Perry [becoming composed again], Yes’m, it wouldn’t 
and it did. 

Miss Sanders. Just please tell me where it was then and I 
shall believe all you say and grant all you ask. 


78 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Perry. You don’t think I could have a splinter stuck 
some’rs, then, that wouldn’t cause inflection and could 
come out without bein ’ picked ? 

Miss Sanders. Frankly, I don’t. Tell me where it was. 

Perry [triumphantly]. In my teeth! 

Miss Sanders. I hadn’t thought of that. 

Earl. Thought you had him trapped, though, didn’t you, 
Miss Sanders ? 

Miss Sanders. I really did. And somehow I don ’t yet feel 
that I plumbed the depths of your intentions, Perry. It 
seems that Jerry narrowly escaped entangling himself, 
too. But since I have no visible proof of anything wrong, 
I shall allow the permission you asked, Perry. 

Perry [with alacrity]. Thank y’, ma’am. 

Perry goes to Jerry and gets his knife, whispering a few 
words as he does so. 

Ferdie. Now, tell us what you started to tell about what 
Mr. Black said, Miss Sanders. 

Perry resumes his seat. 

Miss Sanders. After so long a time I shall try to do so. 
Mr. Black called me on the telephone last night. 

Alice [giggling] . Oh, did you give him one ? 

Miss Sanders [innocently]. One what ? 

Alice. Why, a date, of course. What else would he call 
for? 

Miss Sanders. Don’t be silly, Alice. He called to tell me 
to send my Committee of Three to his room immediately 
upon the ringing of the last bell. 

Violet. Your Committee of Three? 

Miss Sanders. So he said. And I didn’t even know that I 
had such a committee. 

Fred. Maybe it’s some kind of a contest to be between the 
different rooms. 

Ferdie. That’s just about it. 

Miss Sanders. I had almost come to that conclusion, too. 
In fact, I have already made a mental selection of those 
whom 1 shall send. 


THE SIX S’s IN ACTION 


79 


Alice. Am I one of them? 

Miss Sanders. Well, I had thought that the boys— 

Bert [interrupting hastily]. But we ain’t never much 
good at contests an’ such like, you know. I think th’ 
girls’d do better ’n us. That is, some uv ’em would. 

Miss Sanders. That is just what I was going to remark, 
Bert. I had thought of sending— 

Ferdie. Send me, Miss Sanders. I’m good at things like 
that. I am real proficient. 

Perry [in an undertone]. Y’ better keep yer mouth shut 
or y ’ may wish y ’ hadn’t done no fishin ’. 

Miss Sanders. What is that you say, Perry ? 

Perry. Nothin ’. 

Miss Sanders. I am sure that I saw your lips moving 
though, Perry. Now say it again. 

Perry. Oh, I— er— a— I never said anything. 

Ella. I saw his lips move, too, Miss Sanders. 

Violet. And so did I. 

Alice. I saw him work his lips, too. 

Perry. Oh, I was— just a-spittin’ out another piece uv 
splinter from between my teeth. 

Miss Sanders. Well, as I was saying, I have selected 
Alice, Ella and Violet as the Committee of Three to rep¬ 
resent this room in Mr. Black’s office. I hope that you 
girls will bear up well and bravely under whatever is laid 
upon you. 

Alice. Oh goody, goody! 

Ella. Gee, I’m glad! 

Violet. And so am I! 

Miss Sanders. Now, I don’t want the boys to feel hurt 
over this. 

Perry. Oh, don’t worry about us this time. We won’t. 

Bert. If there’s anybody hurt over it, you won’t blame us 
for it, either, will you, Miss Sanders? 

Miss Sanders. No, I shall have to admit that you have all 
acted quite nobly on this occasion, so far as I can see. 

Alice. When do we go, Miss Sanders ? 

Miss Sanders. At once, girls, and may good fortune be 
yours. 


80 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Alice, Ella and Violet go out together highly pleased. 

Miss Sanders. Now, I shall go get some crayon and we 
will begin the morning recitations. 

Exit Miss Sanders. 

Perry. Hurrah! Boys, Hurrah! Yesterday evening 
some one rubbed Mr. Black’s desk with garlic and left a 
bouquet of skunk cabbage in his inkwell with a note which 
read, ‘ ‘ With the compliments of The Committee of Three 
from Miss Sanders’ Room.” 

Bert. An ’ th ’ minit them girls open th ’ door uv his office 
an ’ announces theirse ’ves as th ’ Committee of Three, Mr. 
Black’s gonna start t ’ thrashin ’ on ’em. 

Jerry. So that’s what it was all about? 

Frank. We’ve got down t’ th’ Sad part uv th’ Six S’s 
organization, then, an’ it’s our enemies that’s gonna 
be sad. 


CURTAIN 


THE SIX S’s ADMIT FERDIE 


Characters 


Perry, president and founder of the order 
Bert, his A. D. Camp (aide de camp) 


Earl 

Fred 

Frank 

Jerry 


*charter members of the organization 


Ferdie, the despised sissy who discovers the meeting place 
of the order and is admitted to membership in order to 
insure his silence. 


Scene : The hayloft of a barn. Hay, sacks of feed, bits 
of rope, harness, and other odds arid ends are strewn about. 
With some of the hay or sacks of feed, a raised dais or seat 
of honor is made for Perry. Bert occupies a place slightly 
less prominent. 

Discovered: All of the above named characters save 
Ferdie, seated upon the improvised seats. They breathe 
heavily as if having just been engaged in a struggle. 

Perry. Well, there’s just this much to it an’ there ain’t 
no if’s nor an’s nor but’s nor maybe’s about it. Some¬ 
thin’s got t’ be done an’ that purty presently, too. 
Bert. Yeah, our order is now hangin, on th’ precip’tous 
brink uv a deep an’ dark spasm. Somethin’s gotta be 
done t’ divert th’ impendin’ disaster, or we’d just as 
well disband our lodge an ’ go play dolls with th ’ girls. 
Earl. How d ’ y ’ reckin ’ that milksop ever found out what 
we was doin ’ an ’ where we was at, anyway ? 

Fred. Oh, he’s purty smooth, when it comes t’ findin’ out 
things. I actually think that he’s th’ only one in th’ 
room that had th* faintest glimmer uv an idee that we 
had anything t’ do with th’ Committee uv Three gittin’ 
such a promise ’ous frailin ’. 

81 


82 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Frank. That’s right. His eyes are sharp as needle points 
an’ his ears as long as a hound’s tongue. He don’t miss 
no word nor action that happens in his locality. 

Jerry [examines his wrist]. Well, he’s some fighter, too, 
I c’n tell th’ pop-eyed populace. He bit an’ scratched me 
worse’n a she-male tiger. Looka there where he bit me. 
[Shows his wrist to others.] 

Fred. That looks bad, Jerry. You’d better do somethin' 
fer that, I b ’lieve. 

Jerry. I think I will do somethin’ fer it. Think I’ll go 
right down an’ sock Mr. Fer die another’n in the’ jaw 
fer it. j 

Perry. No, now that he ’s got quiet, don’t disturb him, till 
we d ’cide what t ’ do with ’im. 

Earl. I bet that by th ’ time he gits out uv that oat sack 
an’ gits his mouth so’s he c’n shut it again, he won’t keer 
nothin’ about sneakin’ up no more ladders on people 
that’s holdin ’ secret meetin’s. 

Frank. Maybe we oughtn’t t’ crammed such a big cob in 
’is mouth an’ tied it there. It’d maybe give ’im lockjaw 
t’ have his mouth bleared open so wide. 

Bert [heartlessly]. Let it give it to ’im. He had no 
business t ’ come sneakin ’ aroun ’ where he wasn’t wanted, 
like he did. 

Jerry. Maybe when he does git his mouth shut again, he’ll 
know t’ ’predate keepin’ it shut, ’stead uv shootin’ off 
his bazoo so much about what all he knows. 

Fred. If he’d actually take th’ lockjaw, he couldn’t tell 
nothin’ he seen nor heard, nor what was done to ’im 
while he was in our midst. 

Perry [emphatically]. Yes, he’ll tell, too. Don’t you ever 
doubt that fer one minit. He’d tell it when he got loose, 
if he had t’ write it or make signs t’ git it out uv his 
system. That’s th’ reason we’ve got t’ think uv some 
plan t’ handle ’im b’fore he goes out uv here. 

Earl. Well, fer my part, I wish we didn’t never have t’ 
let ’im go out. 

Bert. Well, fellers, I have been thinkin’ th’ matter over 
very seriously— 


THE SIX S’s ADMIT FEEDIE 


83 


Jerry [fervently ]. An* so’s th’ rest uv us. 

Bert. An’ there ain’t but one thing t’ do t’ keep Ferdie 
f’m exposin’ us an’ our secrets t’ a waitin’ an’ curious 
outside world. 

Frank. What’s the idee, Bert? 

Bert. It’s gonna be a unpleasant pill t’ put down our 
parliamentary canal; but it’s gonna hafta be swallered. 

Fred. What is it, Bert ? 

Bert. We’re gonna hafta take Ferdie in as a member uv 
our Solemn and Serious Sons of Samson’s Sad Secret. 

Frank. Never! 

Jerry. Impossible! 

Frank. That’ll never do. He don’t qualify in any respect 
fer th’ sanctimonious honors which you have su’gested 
t’ extend. 

Fred. That might work, though. 

Jerry. I ’d ruther not have no lodge as t’ endure his smart- 
Alecky presence in our meetin’s. 

Perry. There’s such a thing as endurin’ a lesser evil, 
though, in order t ’ avoid a greater one. 

Jerry. I think you put it back’ards, though, Perry. Hav¬ 
in’ him in our midst ’d be th’ greatest evil that I c’n 
think uv happenin ’. 

Perry. It’d be a-nawful nuisance, t’ have t’ put up with 
’im, I’ll admit; but this is tli’ time when we’ve come t’ a 
cry seas. We’re gonna give up somethin’, we know. We 
better submit t’ some displeasant features than t’ dis¬ 
band entirely. 

Earl. That’s a fac’, Perry. An’ we all know that Ferdie 
is a reg’lar Sir Gal’s hat fer honor, if he accepts any¬ 
thing as a trust. Once we got ’im t’ promise silence an’ 
secrecy, if we let ’im join, he’d never squawk. 

Frank. Yeah, ever’body knows that he’s th’ soul uv 
honor; but what’d we do with ’im? I mean, what part 
would we let him play in th’ meetin’s? 

Fred. Well, I c’n think uv one good use we c’d put ’im to. 

Earl. What’s that, Fred? 

Fred. We c’d make ’im furnish our air rifles with plenty 
uv pills out uv his dad’s drug store. 


84 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Perry. Well, as th’ President an’ founder uv The Solemn 
and Serious Sons of Samson’s Sad Secret, I’m gonna 
declare that in view uv th’ cryin’ seas facin’ us, it has 
become necessary as a ’mergency measure t ’ admit Ferdie 
Gibbons to th’ membership an’ priv’leges uv our order, 
without further delay or argument. 

Jerry. He might not want to join us. 

Bert. Oh yes, he’ll want t’ join all right. If he wasn’t 
dyin ’ t ’ git in, how come ’im t ’ be snoopin ’ around tryin 
t ’ find us ? 

J erry. Since it does seem th ’ best thing t ’ do, I reckin we 
c’d use “ways an’ means” t’ make ’im join. 

Earl. I’m in favor uv havin’ ’im join. 

Perry. I tell you it’s a ’mergency measure, an’ we’re 
gonna hafta like it, whether we want to or not. 

Frank. Or make out like we like it like it is, whether we 
like it like it is or not. 

Perry. I ’m gonna ask Earl an’ my A. D. Camp t ’ go fetch 
up th’ victim. 

Earl and Bert rise and go out at left. At the exit they 
turn backward and crouch , then go out of sight as if 
descending a ladder. 

Jerry [calling after Earl and Bert]. Watch out fer 
bites an ’ scratches! 

Fred. Now there’s one thing we want t’ remember t’ do. 
When we git ’im up here, we want t’ ’nitiate ’im good 
an’ proper, so’s he’ll re’lize he’s joined somethin’. 

Jerry. Oh, I’ll try t’ see t’ that, if nobody else does. 
[Caresses his injured wrist.] 

Frank. Have we got anything in our Rachel ’bout ’niti- 
atin ’ folks ? 

Perry. No, not so far. Y’ see th’ intention uv our lodge 
in th’ beginnin’ was t’ make it a closed body an’ not 
take in no more; but since we’ve modified th ’ rules, we ’ll 
hafta do some Em-prompt-you ’nitiatin’. 

Fred. Our lodge was supposed t’ die out when we died, 
wasn’t it? Like that club uv old war vet’rans some¬ 
where that Pa read about. 


THE SIX S’s ADMI1 FEKDIE 


85 


Jerry. I read that, too. Them old vet’rans, though, they 
had a woman in their number, an’ whichever one that 
outlived all th ’ others was t ’ git th ’ woman. I think her 
name was Polly Rogers an ’ they called ’er Pol fer short. 

Perry. Oh! Pol Roger! Why, that’s th’ name uv a wine 
or champagne that gives y’ a sham pain in th’ head. Y’ 
don’t call Pol Roger a woman, do y’? 

Jerry. Oh, well, it ’mounts t’ ’bout th’ same thing, I 
reckin. They are both somethin’ that ain’t good fer men 
*t’ over-indulge in, but also somethin’ that it’s hard fer 
some t’ keep away from. 

Prank [holds up finger]. Listen! They’ve took th’ cob 
out uv Ferdie’s mouth down there. I hear ’im exercisin’ 
his jawbone at ’em good an’ proper. 

Fred. He didn’t seem t’ develop any symptoms uv th’ 
lockjaw whatever, did he? 

Frank. I guess not. Just listen to that language, will 
you. My, but he’s hot under th ’ collar! 

Jerry. Well, who’d ever thought that little mamma’s 
darlin’d be capable uv such cussin ’ ? 

Perry. I guess they must be havin’ a hard time gittin’ his 
han’s an’ feet untied, though. That wire was purty stiff. 

Frank. I b ’lieve they’ve got ’im unwrapped, now. I hear 
Bert tellin ’ Earl t ’ hold ’im tight, an ’ not let ’im git away. 

Fred. Lissen t’ that, would y’? Says he don’t wanna 
join brotherhood with no such band uv rough necks an’ 
cut throats as we are. 

Perry. Yeah, but he’s just poppin’ off now. He’ll come 
on up as willin’ly as a trained seal in a minit. Watch 
what I tell y ’. 

Frank. Yeah, I hear ’im bendin’ in now. 

Jerry. They’re startin’ up th’ ladder. We’d orter be 
masked, oughtn’t we? 

Perry. Tie your handkerchiefs over your face. 

They quickly produce handkerchiefs and tie them across 
the lower part of their faces . 

Frank. I’ll go tell Bert and Earl t’ mask theirse’ves, too, 

- before they come into the light. 


86 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Perry. All right, do. 

Frank [going to exit]. Hey, fellers, cover yer faces be¬ 
fore y’ come on up. 

Enter Ferdie, in the manner of one who has just ascended 
a ladder. Bert and Earl follow. 

Ferdie [looking about in surprise]. Why, you boys have 
everything arranged rather nicely. 

Perry. Sure, we have. This is our lodge room. 

Ferdie. I knew when you sung that song in school, that 
you six had something unusual on foot. 

Bert. Yeah, I guess it is unusual • but it ain’t on foot. It’s 
overhead. Don’t you remember comin ’ up that ladder ? 

Ferdie. Of course I do. Felt it, too, when Jerry and I 
fell down in our struggle. 

Jerry. Do you remember nearly bitin’ a piece outa my 
wrist ? What do ’y think I’m gonna do f er y ’ about it ? 

Ferdie. Oh, you won’t do anything. 

Jerry. Oh, I won’t, will. I? [Advances menacingly.] 
Well, we’ll just see about that. 

Ferdie [stopping him with a gesture]. No, no, you won’t do 
anything rash now. Bert says that I have been favorably 
passed upon as a candidate for membership in your or¬ 
ganization, so you surely wouldn’t mistreat a fellow 
member and brother. 

Perry. Well, we decided to let you join on certain condi¬ 
tions an’ stipulations. Seemed like you was de-termined 
t ’ snoop aroun ’ an ’ spy on us, so we thought, bein ’ as you 
was so anxious about what we was doin’, we’d make an 
exception to our rules an’ admit you. 

Ferdie. Thank you. I shall seriously consider your invi¬ 
tation and notify you of my decision relative to it, at 
some early date. 

Earl. Say, young feller, don’t try t’ git catnip with us, 
now. This ain’t no vaudeville comedy business, an’ you 
may find out that it ain’t, t ’ yer sorrow. 

Fred. It ain’t no invitation you’re gettin’, neither. It’s a 
dispensation. 

Frank. You better make it snappy an’ a’cept th’ proposi- 


THE SIX S’s ADMIT FERDIE 


87 


tion that's offered by unusual opportunity, b’fore some¬ 
thin’ happens t’ you in th’ shape uv a unusual calamity. 

J erry. Opportunity knocks but once an ’ so does calamity; 
but calamity knocks so much harder. 

Bert. Yeah, ’specially th ’ calamity that’s in store fer them 
that incurs th’ displeasure uv our lodge. So, while yer 
contemplatin’ a spurnin’ uv th’ honor that we’ve offered, 
you might also be drawin ’ a picture uv a unknown corpse, 
tied up in a oat sack, bein’ fished out uv th’ river some’rs 
down th’ line. 

Perry. You are now in the grasp uv a desp’rate band. 
When you trespassed on our premises in th’ first place, 
you took your life in your hands. 

Fred. No human person ’sides our members has ever 
crossed our threshold an’ lived t’ tell uv what they saw 
t’ th’ waitin’ worl’ outside. 

Frank. We have spared your life so far on account uv you 
bein’ in our room at school. We figgered that perhaps 
you intruded an’ trespassed on our sacred an’ secret 
meetin ’ place through ignorance uv th ’ consequences that 
might follow. 

Jerry. If you blin’ly an’ stupidly spurn th’ chance t’ 
save yourse’f by joinin’ us, your blood’ll be on your own 
head—not ours. 

Perry. Is there anything that you’d like to say ? 

Ferdie [ frightened ]. Wh-what do you wa-want me to do ? 

Perry. What do you want to do ? 

Ferdie. I d-don’t know. 

Earl. Your fate is in your own hands. 

Ferdie. I d-don’t want to be found in an oat sack. 

Earl. That’s just th’ words that nigger said, ain’t it, 
fellers f 

Bert. Yeah, he begged an’ plead piteously; but we had no 
way t ’ spare his life, ’cause we couldn’t allow a nigger t ’ 
become a member. 

Fred. You see, he wasn’t as lucky as you are. He didn’t 
even have a chance t’ save his life. He met death that 
was inexorable. 

Ferdie. But I’m afraid Mamma won’t like it, if I join 


88 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


your order. She thinks you boys are entirely too rough. 

Frank. What d ’ you reckin she’d think about an oat sack 
all drippin’ an’ heavy? 

Ferdie. Ugh! Don’t mention that any more, please. I ’ll 
join. I’ll be only too glad to join. 

Perry. Well, I don’t know so much about that, now. You 
waited a long time to decide. 

Ferdie [anxiously]. But you said I could join. 

Jerry. Y ’ oughtn ’t t ’ waited so long ’bout makin ’ up your 
mind on th’ subject. 

Earl. Whyn’t you take th ’ chance at first ? 

Ferdie. I was afraid that Mamma would be angry and 
offended if I joined without her knowledge. But give me 
another chance. I’ll be a good and'faithful member and 
adhere strictly to all your rules and regulations. Please 
give me another chance. 

Perry. Do you think you ’re worth it ? 

Ferdie. Yes, I do. And Mamma would miss me so much. 

Bert. Le’s take ’im in on probation then, fellers. If he 
observes th’ mandrakes an’ principles uv our lodge, we 
c’n spare his life permanently, an’ if he don’t— 

Fred. Th’ oat sack’ll be waitin’ for ’im at any moment’s 
notice uv faithlessness. 

Ferdie. Oh, I ’ll do anything that I’m told to do. 

Perry. An’ you’ll keep sacred an’ in-violin-able all th* 
secret work uv this order ? 

Ferdie [fervently], I sure will. 

Perry. Well, I’ll let th’body uv members vote on it. All 
in favor uv admittin’ Ferdie t’ membership, say “I.” 

All say “I.” 

Perry. By your votes you have chosen t’ unite th’ weal 
an ’ th ’ woe uv The Solemn and Serious Sons of Samson’s 
Sad Secret with th’ faithfulness of faithlessness uv 
Ferdie Gibbons. 

Ferdie. I’ll be faithful, boys. 

Perry. Mr. A. D. Camp, you may now conduc’ th’ candi¬ 
date for membership t ’ th ’ altar. 


THE SIX S’s ADMIT FERDIE 


89 


Bert leads Ferdie to the improvised altar of hay and 
sacks covered with a cloth. From. beneath the cloth of 
the altar, Perry draws a shining sword. The others 
move nearer. 

Ferdie [nervously looking at the sword]. Wh-what’s that 
sword for ? 

Earl. That’s what we use in our Sarah Mooneys. 

Frank. As Sir Walter Jolly said, Ferdie, “It’s sharp 
medicine, but it cures all diseases. ’ ’ 

Ferdie. B-but I ’m not diseased, though. 

Bert. You will now hafta kneel, Mr. Can’idate, an’ cut 
out th ’ gab. 

Ferdie kneels on a piece of sack or matting which has been 
placed before the “altar.” 

Fred. Better blin’fold ’im, Bert. 

Bert produces a kerchief and blindfolds Ferdie. 

Ferdie. Wh-what ’s all this for ? 

Perry. You are gittin’ ready now fer th ’ rights uv decapi¬ 
tation into our lodge. 

Jerry. Any last remarks y’ want a make or messages y’ 
wanta send? 

Ferdie. T-tell Mamma what became of me. 

Perry [in grandiloquent tones]. Hear! Oh, hear! Into 
th’ midst of this chapter of The Solemn and Serious Sons 
of Samson’s Sad Secret, now comes a stranger out of dark¬ 
ness, seekin’ th’ light of fellowship an’ membership. He 
has knocked on our portals an’ hearin’ his cry we are 
now about t’ answer with admittance. 0 Stranger, bow 
low! Bow low in multiplication for what you are about 
to receive! 

Ferdie bows head almost to the floor, shielding the back 
of his neck with one hand. Perry goes to the side of 
Ferdie and raises the sword. 

Earl. Let me wield the sword, Mr. President. 

Perry. No. no, Ic’n use it all right. 


90 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


Ferdie. Y-you’re not going to hurt me, are you, boys? 

Bert. Oh, no, it won’t hurt, Ferdie You’ll scarcely 
know it. 

Perry. Please he real still now, Seeker of the Light, an’ 
th’ light shall appear. 

Perry deals Ferdie’ s exposed part a sounding whack 
.with the flat side of the sword . Ferdie tumbles over . 

Ferdie. Oh, my goodness! 

Fred. Th’ light lit heavy, didn’t it? 

Bert. Back on yer knees there, Can’idate. 

Ferdie resumes his position upon the mat . 

Earl. There’s more t’ come yit. 

Ferdie. Please don’t hit me like that again. 

Bert. All right. That is sufficient application uv th’ 
light. I ’ll give you th’ secon’ degree, now, though. 

Ferdie. Please don’t be so rough. 

Bert. Oh, I won’t be rough. This time I want you to re¬ 
main on your knees; but hold up your head. 

Ferdie. Please don ’t throw water in my face. 

Bert. Don ’t worry. We don’t aim to do that. 

Jerry. That might put out th’ light th’ President just lit 
fer you. 

Bert. Now clasp your hands before your face as if in 
prayer. 

Ferdie [obeying]. Now don’t make a mockery. 

Earl. We’re not mockin’ birds, Ferdie. 

Jerry. This is gonna be serious, Ferdie. 

Ferdie. I hope it isn’t painful. 

Bert. Not in the least. You are to repeat what I say 
verb-at- ’em. 

Ferdie. I’m ready. 

Bert. All right. Say: “ A man of small wisdom is easily 
puffed up.” 

Ferdie. “ A man of small wisdom is easily puffed up.” 

Bert. But “Pride goeth before a fall.” 

Ferdie. ‘ ‘ Pride goeth before a fall. ’ ’ 

Bert catches the end of the mat behind Ferdie. 


THE SIX S's ADMIT FERDIE 


91 


Bert. Now what did I say come after “pride”? 

Ferdie. Why, a fall. 

Bert jerks on the mat, thus throwing Ferdie forward 
on his face. 

Fred. Come here, Ferdie, an’ lemme he’p y’ up. 

Ferdie [tears off the blindfold]. That could have been 
dangerous then. 

Frank. Oh, you’ll live over that, Ferdie. Now I will tell 
you th’ keyword t’ Samson’s success in killin’ Filled- 
str earns. 

Ferdie. Oh, I want to hear that. 

Frank. Lean your head over here, then. 

Ferdie does as he is told and Frank shouts shrilly in 
his ear. 

Frank. Whoo-o-o-oo! 

Ferdie springs away from Frank, shaking his head and 
rubbing his ear. 

Ferdie. You nearly bursted my eardrum, then. 

Frank. Oh well, just so’s it’ll still beat is all right. 

Jerry. Le’s give ’im th’ password now an’ call ’im a 
full-fledged member. I don’t see no use t’ persecute ’im 
so long, even if he did nearly bite a plug outa my wrist. 

Fred. But what’ll we give ’im fer a password? We ain’t 
got but six words for th ’ Six S’s an ’ they ’re all done took. 

Earl. An ’ we don’t want t ’ change th ’ name uv our 
lodge on his account, by addin’ to or takin’ from. 

Perry. No, we don’t want t’ do anything like that. But 
if you remember, there is three little connecting words in 
th’ title of our lodge. 

Bert. Why sure, The, And an’ Of. We c’n let ’im have 
all three of them an’ say ’em at th’ proper time in th’ 
Rachel. 

Ferdie. You will have to explain a little more of what is 
expected of me. 

Perry. Well, you see we call ourselves the Six S’s be¬ 
cause our lodge has six members an ’ six words in its name. 


92 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Ferdie. Yes, I know that. The Solemn and Serious Sons 
of Samson’s Sad Secret, is the name, isn’t it ? 

Perry. Right y ’ are. An ’ for passwords we each one took 
one of th ’ principal words of th ’ lodge name. 

Fred. You see we numbered, Ferdie, an’ number one took 
Solemn, for a password, an’ number two, which is Bert, 
took Serious, an ’ so on an ’ at celery. 

Frank. An ’ we repeated our passwords in rotation so that 
it all went together an ’ made our complete lodge name. 

Earl. So now, you’re s’posed t’ fill in th’ gaps between 
th ’main words with The, And an’ Of at th’ proper time. 

Ferdie. I believe I understand w T hat is expected of me, 
now. I don ’t get an S to myself f 

Perry. Say, I b’lieve I’d rather add another S onto our 
lodge name an’ let Ferdie have it than t’ give him three 
words’t our one. 

Bert. An’ so had I. But what’ll we give him? 

Jerry. That’s easy. Just call our order The Solemn and 
Serious Sons of Samson’s Sad and Secret Sorrow, an’ let 
Ferdie have th’ last word, Sorrow. He’s the last mem¬ 
ber, so he gets th ’ last word. 

Perry. You’re a wonder, Jerry. We’ll do that very thing. 
Ferdie, you’ll be th’ seventh S, an’ your password is 
Sorrow. 

Earl. Do you understand how it is given ? 

Ferdie. I believe I do. 

Frank. Let’s have a speech from th’ new member. 

Earl. Yeah, le’s do. 

Fred. Speech, speech, Ferdie! 

Perry. Go ahead, Ferdie. You are good at things like 
that. Make us a speech tellin’ how you like th’ lodge. 

Ferdie [clearing his throat]. Well, then, fellow members 
and brothers, it is with pride mixed with pleasure that I 
stand before you as newly made member of your or¬ 
ganization. 1 might add, that, together with pride and 
pleasure, I still experience the sensation of what Perry 
was pleased to call delight. [Feels gingerly of the spot . 
struck by the sword.] 

The boys applaud. 


THE SIX S’s ADMIT FERDIE 


93 


Ferdie [continuing ]. Now, brothers and fellow criminals, 
I am going to compare this splendid secret organization 
of onrs with a mighty express train. I think that all can 
easily see the similitude and aptness of the comparison. 
The Express possesses great strength and power as it 
rushes through the darkness, bringing light and service 
to waiting mankind. And so does our lodge. Here we 
have Perry. He is the engine, the driving power, the 
leader, the headlight. Didn't he bestow upon me light, 
when I was in darkness? 

Boys all laugh. 

Jerry. Fine, fine, Ferdie! 

Bert. Go on, Ferdie. You're a real orator. 

Fred. Give us more! Give us more! 

Ferdie [continuing]. And then we come to Bert. We 
might as well come to him for he '11 come to us if we don't. 
He came to me when I wasn’t looking for him. Now Bert 
represents “The Baggage Coach Ahead.” You've all 
heard that sad song about “The Baggage Coach Ahead.” 
Well, that’s Bert. 

The boys utter cries of delight and appreciation. 

Ferdie. Then we have here Earl, Frank, Jerry and Fred, 
who are also coaches on this train. I’m not sure, but I 
believe the whistle, or what corresponds to the whistle, is 
reposed in Frank. He is an ear-splitter. These four 
coaches are quite useful carriers, too. Just look at Jerry. 
He's carrying a red spot on his wrist right now. 

The boys laugh and nudge Jerry. 

Earl. What about yourse 'f ? What part do you play ? 

Frank. Yeah, tell us what you are. 

Ferdie. Oh, I am only a little modest and insignificant 
caboose which has only recently been picked up and 
added onto the rear of this mighty train. 

Applause from the boys and a quick 


CURTAIN 


LEMUEL WOULDN’T LIE 

Characters 
Lem, who wouldn’t lie 
Sis, who tried to trap him 
Ma, who defended him 
Pa, cross-questioned him. 

Scene : Living-room of a modern home. 

Discovered: Ma, Pa and Sis seated about table. Ma and 
Sis are engaged with needlework and magazine respec¬ 
tively. *Pa looks at his watch from time to time. 

Pa. Seems to me that it is about time for that boy to be 
getting back here. He’s been gone long enough to have 
made the trip twice. 

Ma. Now, just keep cool, Pa; there’s no need to be un¬ 
reasonable. You know that Lemuel will be back as soon as 
he can manage to get here. 

Sis. Of course you always stick up for him, Ma. Now, if I 
stayed away on an errand as long as he does, I’d be sure 
to get a good tongue lashing. 

Ma. Why are you so jealous of your brother f You and Pa 
both seem to have a pick at Lemmy just because he looks 
like me. 

Pa. I don’t know so much about having a pick at him, 
don’t think I have any pick; but I do know that if he was 
in reach of me right now, I’d take a kick at ’im. 

Ma. I would talk about abusing a child, if I were you. 
Just because you are larger and stronger than he is, you 
think you’ll show your brute nature. 

Pa. If you don’t stop upholding that boy in his deviltry 
and idleness, he won’t' be worth the powder and lead it’d 
take to blow his hat off. 

Ma. Are you a slave driver ? What do you expect from a 
mere child? Do you want him to take a job somewhere 
and support you ? He is too young to work and I don’t 

94 


LEMUEL WOULDN’T LIE 


95 


want him to work, anyway. He has the soul of a poet and 
I don’t want him to be forced to do anything which con¬ 
flicts with his inner urge. 

Sis. Inner urge or no urge at all—teacher said if he didn’t 
prepare better lessons than he ’s been in the habit of doing, 
she’d put him back. 

Ma. I don’t see why people can’t appreciate the tender and 
sympathetic nature Lemuel has, and not expect him to 
measure with the common herd in things he dislikes. 

Pa [ looks at watch again]. If he’s not here in two more 
minutes, I’m gonna go after him an’ I bet I give him 
something he ’ll remember a long time, whether he likes it 
or not. 

Sis [eagerly]. Why don’t you, Pa? You came after me 
one night when I stayed too late at Evelyn’s party. 

Enter Lem at Right. 

Lem. Here’s your paper, Dad. [Hands newspaper to his 
father.] 

Ma. See there! I told you that Lemuel would return as 
soon as possible. Now you ought to be ashamed of the way 
you acted about it. 

Pa. I was not uneasy any of the time but that he would be 
in before breakfast; I wanted to read the paper to-night. 

Sis. He has been gone even up to an hour and a half. I 
have kept watch on the time. 

Pa [sternly]. Young man, I was just about ready to 
start after you. 

Lem. I wasn’t lost, Dad. I didn’t need any help to get 
home. 

Pa. You surely lacked something which kept you from 
getting back as you should have done. Where have you 
been all this time? 

Lem. I been after your paper. 

Sis. And where else in the meantime ? 

Lem. Ah! What is it to you ? 

Ma. Is this a repetition of the Inquisition? Why is it 
necessary to conduct such a rigid cross-examination, now 
that Lemuel is here and you have your paper ? 


96 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Pa. I want to know where on earth he has frittered away 
all of his time. 

Ma. Well, I know Lemuel won’t lie about it, even if he is 
misunderstood and his motives are unappreciated. But it 
is the sad fortune of all true genius to be misrated by the 
common herd. 

Lem. Aw, ever’ time I foiler th’ inclinations uv one o’ my 
inner urges, I git raked over th’ coals of prescription fer 
it good an’ proper. 

Ma. Prosecution, Lemuel, not that other word. And where 
did you acquire all of those horrid expressions? 

Lem. Mother, I am deeply sorry for having offended your 
delicate ears with such language. I was driven to forget 
myself momentarily by the annoying remarks of Sis and 
Dad. 

Ma. Now, isn’t that just too manly of him to make such 
an open and frank confession of his fault to me? 

Sis. Maybe you would better ask him where he has been to 
learn all of that language. I’m sure he didn’t learn it 
in a public library or art gallery. 

Pa. Sounds to me more like he might have picked it up 
while loafing around some pool hall. 

Ma. I said it and I repeat it: Lemuel won’t lie. Tell us 
where you have been, son. Mother, at least, will try to 
understand your motives. 

Lem. Dad and Sis won’t, though. They’ll rave and rant 
about it. 

Pa. .If you don’t mend some of your ways, my lad, I’m 
going to do worse than that to you. 

Lem. See there, Mother. There is a prejudice against me. 
If I told where I spent my time, a false construction would 
be placed on it, I know. 

Ma. Suppose, then, you explain your motives beforehand; 
that will perhaps induce an appreciative sentiment in 
even the most unappreciative. 

Pa. I want to know why you ask me for so much spending 
money before you finish, too. 


LEMUEL WOULDN’T LIE 


97 


Lem. Can’t you see, Mother? I am condemned at the start. 

Sis. A guilty conscience needs no accuser. 

Ma. Mother will take your part. She has an understanding 
nature and a sympathetic heart, if no one else in the 
family has. 

Pa. Go ahead, then, Lem, and explain your motives first. 
It might be possible that some one could understand them, 
if they were really worthy. Why did you linger in town 
so long? 

Lem. Well, I always try to look at both sides of anything 
always. 

Ma. How noble! 

Lem. And I feel like I can learn something from the most 
lowly or debased person on earth. 

Ma. What a splendid sentiment of charity! 

Sis. I am not allowed to associate with the dregs and trash. 

Pa [sarcastically]. You haven’t the inner urge of poetical 
feelings. 

Lem. I also believe in each half of the world knowing how 
the other half lives. 

Ma. Another splendid thought! 

Pa. I don’t know how on earth you’ll live when you get 
grown, if you don’t mend your ways before long. But 
it is admitted that the ideas you have advanced are worthy 
of consideration by anyone. Now, what are you using 
them to justify yourself in ? 

Lem. Well, sir, in order that I might better put my lofty 
ideas into practice and make some observations of my 
own upon life as it is lived in the gutter as well as on 
the parapets— 

Ma. How poetical he is! 

Lem [continuing]. I stopped in at Mike’s Billiard Parlor. 

Pa [rising in baffled anger]. Bah! That’s what becomes 
of all the dimes and quarters I give you. My son is a 
pool-hall loafer and his mother won’t let me correct him 
because she thinks he is a poet. [Strides out of the room 
in high disgust.] 

Lem. Now, see there! I knew Dad would misconstrue my 
actions. 


98 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Sis. Some day he is going to lose his temper and strew the 
pieces of you all over the place. 

Exit Sis in disgust, too. 

Sis [at the door]. I can’t even go to a movie if the title 
sounds suggestive; but Lem equalizes and associates with 
guttersnipes and Ma calls it art. 

Ma puts her arm around Lemuel and strokes his hair. 

Ma. Never mind, Lemuel. Some day your life and works 
may be accepted and appreciated. 

Lem [wrenching loose]. Lemme go, Ma; I think I hear 
Speck Doolin whistlin ’ fer me. I told ’im I’d meet ’im in 
five minutes. 


Lemuel runs out. 

Ma. The dear boy! He can even assume their language 
and manners. Some day, I know he will write an epic of 
underworld life. 


CURTAIN 


THE HEROES OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE 


Characters 

Joe Pat Sam Jud 

Ike Red Ted Nip 

Scene : The attic of an old house. Barrels, boxes, trunks, 

broken chairs, brooms, etc., scattered about. 

Discovered: All of the boys seated on various articles. 

Pat. Gosh, but it’s rainin’. 

J oe. Rainin ’ f I reckin ’ it is rainin ’. Why, man, at this 
rate, it won’t be long till th’ creeks is all outa banks. 

Ike. Let ’er rain. We’re in th’ dry. 

Red. ’S a good thing we got in this ole house when we did, 
though. We wouldn’t ’a’ been dry long if we’d stayed on 
th’ playgroun’. 

Sam. We wouldn’t, for a fact. You c’n bet we left just in 
time t’ keep from gittin’ soaked. Wet wouldn’t begin to 
describe what we’d ’a ’ been. 

Jud. It shore broke up our doogie game plenty quick. 

Nip. I never got more’n ha’f o’ my doogies, neither. 

Sam. Well, all th’ doogies left on th’ doogie groun’ might 
as well be kissed good by now. They won’t never be seen 
no more. 

Nip. I ain’t so sure that I left any on th’ groun’. In fact, 
I’m purty sure I didn’t. 

Ted. Aw, you’re allays bellerin’ ’bout somethin’. Why 
don’t you go stick y ’r head in a hole an ’ shut up ? 

Nip. Why don’t you drink some of your own soup, if you 
think it’s so good? I guess I got a right to tell about it 
if I lose somethin’. 

Jud. Y’ just said y’ didn’t think y’ left any on th’ groun’, 
didn’t y’? 

Ted. Why don’t y’ count what y’ve got an’ see if any’s 
missin ’ before y ’ howl so much ? 


DO 


100 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Nip. Oh, I know I’m minus some marbles, but I don’t 
expect t’ ever find ’em. 

Red. Well, fer th’ love o’ Mike, stop insinuatin’ ’roun’ so 
much, an ’ come out an ’ say who y ’ think got ’em. 

Joe. That’s what I say. Speak up, if y’ve got anything t’ 
say, an’ quit heatin’ ’roun’ th’ bush so much. 

Nip. Well, now, if y’ all wanta know just what I think, I 
ain’t a bit skeered t’ tell y’. Of course it won’t do me 
no good, fer I don’t know who it wuz; but somebody in 
this gang got more doogies than belonged to ’em. 

Ike. Aw, well, that’s nothin’ so much t’ beller about. Y’ 
better be glad y ’ got as many as y ’ did an ’ kep ’ dry. 

Sam. Aw, he allays wants t’ start a fuss, if he can, over 
some little foolishness. 

Nip. No, I don’t, an’ I don’t aim to say no more about it. 
I just mentioned what I did an’ y’ all kep’ harpin’ yer 
bugles, so that I just wanted y’ t’ know I c’d tell when 
I wuz cheated. 

Pat. Nobody tried t’ cheat you, Nip. When th’ rain come 
up, we all started t ’ grabbin ’ doogies, an ’ I guess you just 
wuzn’t as good a grabber as th ’ rest. 

Red. Now, that’s about th’ sum an’ substance of it, Pat. 
He’d be a sorry hand at pickin ’ up taters, wouldn’t he ? 

Ted. Well, I may not be such a good grabber myself. I 
feel I’m short some, too. 

Joe. Well, I don’t mind tellin’ you that I’ma good grabber 
myse’f. I don’t feel like I lost anything, an’ I may not 
be so much ahead; but t’ show I’m willing t’ be fair an’ 
square, I say le’s put all th’ doogies back in th’ ring, if 
it ever stops rainin’, an’ start all over again. 

Jud. Nowy’re talkin’, That’ll be fair fer one an’all. 

Nip. That suits me. An ’ t ’ show that I don’t want t ’ be a 
howlin ’ an ’ tryin ’ t ’ raise a fuss all time, I s ’gest that we 
play some kinda game up here in this ole attic. 

Pat. There’d be more room fer playin’, back downstairs. 

Red. Yeah, but I druther stay up here, where all these ol’ 
relics is. 

Sam. Me too. It’s more romantic like, an’ thrillin’. Why 
it r ’minds me uv a movin ’ pitcher I saw one time ’bout a 


THE HEROES OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE 


101 


gang uv robbers that wuz usin’ th ’ attic uv an ole house 
like this fer a wren-dez-vouse. 

Joe. I bet y’ don’t even know what a wren-dez-vouse is. 

Sam. I bet I do. It’s Siberianese fer meetin ’ place. I saw 
it in a book an ’ looked it up in th ’ dictionary as soon as I 
got a chance. 

Ike. Well, I’m glad we ain’t no robbers. We might all git 
’rested an’ put in th’ plenipotentiary. Now see there! I 
know some big words, too. 

Nip. Well, are we gonna play somethin’, or just all set up 
here an ’ spout off big words ? 

Pat. Let’s make up stories an’ tell ’bout th’ folks that 
has lived here in this house. 

Ted. Yeah, le’s do. Just think of all th’ things that has 
happened t’ th’ folks that owned these ole clo’es an’ fixin’s 
scattered around. 

Ike. The’ wuz one feller killed in this house, Pa said. 

Pat. Good Goshness! Wuz he killed plumb dead? 

Nip. What y’ talkin’ about, Pat ? Of course he wuz plumb 
dead, if he got killed. 

Pat. Not on yer tintype, Nip. The ’ wuz an old, old man— 
well, maybe he wuzn’t quite that old either; but he wuz 
awful old—an’ he said that when anybody met with a 
vi’lent death uv any kind, an’ it just snatched ’em right 
off, that wuz th’ end uv them. But if they fought an’ 
struggled an’ didn’t die right off, then they allays come 
back an’ ha’nted th’ place. 

Jud. I wish y’ ail’d hush. 

Sam. Maybe this house is ha’nted, too. 

Red. Ain’t nobody lived here, now, in a mighty long time. 

Ike. The’s boun ’ t ’ be somethin ’ wrong with it. 

Joe. I don’t blame folks that’s th’ least bit timid fer not 
livin’ here myself. 

Ted. Me neither. Now like Jud, fer instance. 

Jud. Well, I don’t keer what y’ say ’bout it; but I ain’t 
lost nothin’ foolin’ with ha’nts an’ I ain’t ’spectin’ t’ 
find nothin’. I lets ’em alone. 

Nip. Aw, I don’t b’lieve in—What wuz that?—ha’nts 
myse ’f. 


102 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Red. No, I guess you don’t. 

Nip. I don’t. 

Sam. I don’t either. Quit breathin’ so hard, though, Nip. 
It gits my goat t’ hear somebody breathin’ like a wind- 
broken horse. 

Ike. Well, I hain’t sayin’ the’ hain’t no ha’nts; but I 
hain’t never seen none yit. 

Jud. Oo-o-h! Look at that—lightnin’, I reckin. 

Sam. Gosh! Seems t’me like it’s gittin’awful dark. It’s 
rainin’ as hard as ever, too. 

Pat. I knowed uv an ole house that wuz ha’nted, one time; 
’cause some fellers went an ’ proved that it wuz. 

Joe. How ’d they prove it ? 

Jud. How wuz it ha’nted? 

Red. Did they ketch th ’ ha ’nt ? 

Pat. No, they never caught nothin’ but a cold an’ an 
awful skeer. 

Nip [shivers]. We’re gonna ketch one or maybe both. 

Sam. Go ahead an ’ tell ’bout them fellers, Pat. 

Pat. Well, the’ wuz an ole house that wuz claimed t’ be 
ha’nted, so these fellers—the’ wuz three uv ’em, went t’ 
try an’ ketch th’ ha’nt. They watched it three nights an’ 
never seen nothin’. 

Ted. Aw, y ’ see the ’ wuzn’t nothin ’ to it, after all. 

Pat. That ain’t all uv it, though. 

Sam. Well, tell th’ rest uv it, then. 

Pat. They felt purty brave th ’ fourth night; so they took 
a bed an ’ put it against th ’ door th ’ ha ’nt wuz s ’posed t ’ 
come in at, an ’ all went t ’ bed. 

Ike. I bet they never slep ’ any, though. 

Nip [nervously]. It’s quit rainin’. Le’s go home. 

Pat [very deep tones]. At th’ solemn hour uv midnight, 
th’ door opened, just pushin’ that bed out uv th’ way like 
it wuzn’t there. 

Pat makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. 

Jud. What wuz that moved over there in th’ corner? 

Sam. Wuz that all about th’ fellers an’ their bed? 


THE HEROES OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE 


103 


Pat. Th’ bed wuz busted into smithereens an’ a big ball uv 
fire scorched an’ blinded th’ fellers till they couldn’t see 
nothin’ else. 

J oe. I don’t guess they waited t ’ see nothin else. 

Sam. I don’t blame ’em, either. 

Ike [shuddering ]. Say, I b’iieve it’s rainin’ again. 

Red [shudders too]. It’s awful dark. 

Ned. We better go home. 

Jud [whimpering]. We never could git by th’ gravel pits, 
as dark as it is. 

Sam. Maybe some uv our folks’ll bring a light after us 
purty soon. 

Pat drops several marbles which roll and clatter across 
the floor. The others clutch at each other. 

Ike and Nip [together]. O-o-oh! 

Red [terrified]. What wuz that? 

Jud [chattering]. Th-th-the’s a sk-eleton m-moved 
some’r’s ’r-round here. 

Pat [calmly]. Aw, don’t git excited. I jest dropped a few 
doogies on th ’ floor. 

Ted [relieved]. Oh-h. 

Sam [forcing a laugh]. Well, don’t do that no more. 

Joe. No, don’t, ’cause I don’t feel jist right up here m’se’f, 
an ’ if anything else like that happens, the’s li ’ble t ’ be a 
stampede. 

Pat, unnoticed by the others , raps on the back of the box 
on which he sits. 

Sam [startled]. Now, what wuz that ? 

Jud [trying to appear calm}. I guess th-hat w-wuz my 
knees a-kn-kockin’. 

Sam. Red, le’s me’n you go home. We don’t hafta pass no 
gravel pits. 

Red. All right. Joe, y ’ better go with us. You live our way 
an ’ we ’ll all be comp ’ny t ’ each other. 

Joe [undecided]. But I gotta long way t’ go by m’se’f 
after I leave y’all. 

Jud. Yeah, but it’s down th’ highway. You c’d make that 


104 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


all right. I’d go home if I had anybody t’ go past them 
gravel pits with me. 

Nip. Le’s go, anyhow, Jnd. We might make it through 
without failin’ in. 

Jud. We might not, too. An’ if we ever did fall in one, 
we’d never come out alive. 

Pat. You’re right, Jud. They’re all full uv water by now 
an’ it’d be dangerous fer anybody t’ try t’ pass ’em, as 
dark as it is. 

Ike. I’d ruther stay here till somebody comes after us, if 
Pat won’t tell no more spook tales. 

Sam. Nobody’ll know where t’ come fer us, is th’ trouble 
with that idee. 

Joe. That’s right. I guess we better go. Red, maybe yer 
dad’d let you go on home with me, when we git t’ your 
house. I ’ll ask ’im. 

Red. Why, Joe, you c’d stay with me’n Sam. We got a 
whole bed upstairs t’ ourselves. 

Sam. Sure. Either that or let Nip and Jud go with you, 
bein ’ as they ’re afraid t ’ pass th ’ gravel pits. 

Nip. I wouldn’t be afraid t’ go down th’ highway, three 
uv us t’gether. 

Jud. Me neither. But I don’t keer who knows that I am 
skeered t’ take a chance on passin’ them gravel pits. 

Pat. Looks t ’ me like th ’ whole bunch is skeered uv ever ’- 
thing, t’ tell th’ truth about it. 

Ted. Maybe you’re not skeered. 

Pat. I’m not. 

Ted. Whatcha keep on waitin’ here in this ole house fer, 
then, if y’ ain’t skeered? . 

Pat. I’m enjoyin’ m’se’f, little brother. It’s lotsa sport 
t’ me t’ watch th’ antics. 

Ted. Oh, yes, you’re so grown-up an’ brave like. You 
think you are awful smart. 

Pat [laughs]. Smart or no smart, I nearly skeered th’ 
lickits out uv th’ rest uv y’. 

Red. I don’t see anything smart about that. 

Pat. I ’ll tell y ’all somethin ’, if y ’ want t ’ know it. 


THE HEROES OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE 


105 


Sam [apprehensively]. It ain’t another ghost story, is it? 
If it is, we don’t want t ’ hear it. 

Pat. No. Th’ one I told awhile ago wuz all bunk. I just 
invented it t’ skeer you boys. 

Ted. I knowed he wuzn’t tellin ’ it right all th ’ time. 

Ike. Why didn’t y’ call ’im down, then, Ted? 

Ted. Oh, it didn’t skeer me, so I thought I’d just see how 
big he would stretch it. 

Joe. Wuzn’t it that bad, Ted? 

Ted. No, Pa did tell us ’bout a house that wuz s’posed t’ 
be ha’nted. 

Nip. Well, you don’t need t’ tell us no more about it. I 
reckin’ we’re all satisfied. 

Jud. Go on an’ tell it right, an’ let’s see how much Pat 
added to it. 

Pat. Oh, I made up nearly all of it. 

Red [ reassured] . Well, tell us how it really wuz, then, Ted. 

Ted. Well, this house Pa told about wuz left empty a long 
time an’ some people that run into it out uv th’ rain 
one night— 

Ike [ interrupting ]. Just like we run into this’n. 

Ted. Yeah. Well they actually heard some chains a-rattlin’ 
up in th’ loft. 

Joe [ frightened ]. They did? 

Ted. Yes, but they took a light an’ investigated it. 

Ike. I wouldn’t a- ’vestigated nothin ’ about it. I’d a-pulled 
my stakes outa there. 

Ted. But they found it wuz only a little short piece uv 
chain in between th’ logs that th’ rats run over an’ 
rattled once in a while. 

Sam [relieved]. Wuz that all? 

Pat. That’s th’ way Pa told it, fellars. They wuzn’t no 
ha’nt to it. 

Red. Well, we better go now, Sam. Ma’ll be on ’er head 
’bout us. She may be huntin’ us now. 

Joe. Yeah, le’sgo. 

Sam, Joe, Red, Jud and Nip rise. 

Nip. What you gonna do, Ike? 

Ike [mes]. B’lieve I’ll go with you fellers. When I git 


106 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


t’ Sam’s an Red’s house, I c’n call up home an’ have 
Jake t’ come after me on th’ horse. 

Nip. I hadn’t thought uv th’ telephone. Jud, we c’n do 
that too, can’t we ? 

Jud. We c’n try it. I don’t know whether Dad’ll come 
after us or not, though. 

Sam. Well, in union there is strength. We c’n all make it 
t ’ our house, I’m purty sure. 

Red. Why, sure we can. Le’s go, boys. 

Exeunt Sam, Red, Joe, Jud, Nip and Ike. 

Ted. Le’s go too, Pat. 

Pat. What’s yer hurry, kiddo? 

Ted. It’s gittin late. We better git home. 

Pat [derisively]. An’ jump in bed an’ pull th’ cover t’ 
hide our faces. 

Ted. No, not nec’sarily that. But le’s go. 

Pat. Well, go on. I’m gonna look aroun’ some b’fore I 
leave. Might find somethin’. 

Ted. I don’t know what y ’ think y ’ll find; hut he ’p yerse ’f, 
I’m goin’ home. [Starts off.] 

Pat [ivithout looking at Ted]. Don’t let th’ spooks git y’. 
Ted [turning]. Same hack t’ you , son. 

Pat [still not looking at Ted]. Oh, don’t worry. Nothin’ll 
bother me. I’m too tough. 

Ted [going out]. Maybe. 

At the exit Ted picks up an old broom and a long cloth. 
He drapes the cloth over the broom , tying it just beneath 
the straw , then fastens a shorter stick below that , thus 
making a semblance of arms and head. Pat turns his 
attention to the boxes and barrels. Ted reenters with 
his weird figure held before him , and still unnoticed 
creeps up behind Pat. 

Pat. No tellin ’ what’s in this place. 

Ted [in sepulchral tones]. No, the’ ain’t. 

Pat straightens and turns. He sees the figure almost upon 
him, groans and falls in a faint. 

Pat [as he falls] . Ah-h-h! 

QUICK CURTAIN 


TRAVEL TROUBLES 

Characters 
Jess, the traveler 
Less, the resident 

Scene: A street. 

Discovered: Less leaning against a lamp post. 

Less. The’s just one thing I like about this town. I like 
the way it’s laid out. Been dead quite a while now and 
she still lays purty much th’ same. 

Enter Jess carrying a coat across one arm and a suitcase 
in the other hand. 

Jess [approaches Less and sets suitcase down]. Say, 
young man, I want to go to the Bivens Hotel. 

Less. All right, if your Ma don’t keer an ’ you won’t stay 
long. 

Jess [ embarrassed ]. I mean, how do you go there ? 

Less. I don’t never go. Their rates are too high. 

Jess. Well, then, how do I go ? 

Less. How y’ ’spect me t’ know ’bout your bizness when 
you don’t know yourself? Looks t’ me like you’s goin’ 
afoot, though. 

Jess. Well, then, if you persist in being so meticulous 
about my manner of expression— 

Less [interrupting]. Say, I ain’t tryin’ t’ tickle you, 
feller. If you’ve got a ticklish manner, I can’t help it. 

Jess. Meticulous means finicky. If you have to be so 
finicky— 

Less. Why, I’m not tryin’ t’ fin you, neither. What’s 
wrong with you, feller? 

Jess. I just started to remark— 

Less. Re mark ? Where’d you mark th ’ first time ? 

Jess. I was going to say, then, that if you couldn’t get my 
meaning clearly, I’d try using other words. 

107 


108 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 


Less. I wisht you would. 

Jess. Well, can you direct me to the Bivens Hotel? 

Less. No, sir. 

Jess. Why not? 

Less. ’Cause it ain’t direct. It’s round two corners from 
here. 

Jess. Now you’re getting down to what I want. Can you 
tell me how to reach it ? 

Less. You can’t reach it. 

Jess. Why not? 

Less. Your arm ain’t long enough. 

Jess. There you go again. Can you tell me where it is? 

Less. We still talkin’ ’bout th’ Bivens Hotel? 

Jess. Why, to be sure. 

Less. Well, I don’t know whether I c’n tell you where it is 
or not. 

Jess. I thought you were a resident of this town. 

Less. I am. 

Jess. Don’t you know where the Bivens Hotel is, then ? 

Less. I know where it was, but last time I was there ever ’- 
thing was goin ’ so high in it that the ’ may be a whole new 
business moved in under it by now. 

Jess [laughs]. I’ll have to take a chance on that; but I 
must stay somewhere, so tell me how^to get there and let 
me be on my way. 

Less. I hate to see you git hi-jacked. 

Jess. Oh, never mind that; go ahead and direct me to the 
hotel, young man. 

Less. No use o ’ me a-goin ’ at all. I ’ll tell you how an ’ let 
you go by yourself. 

Jess. That’s exactly what I’ve been wanting you to do 
for the last five minutes. 

Less. Well, you’re a funny feller. Whyn’t you say that in 
th ’ first place, ’stead o ’ callin ’ me names an ’ accusin ’ me 
o’ doin’ things to you that I never thought of? 

Jess. I humbly beg your pardon, sir— 

Less. I ain’t got no puddin’. What you want with pud- 
din’, anyhow? I thought you wanted to go to the Bivens 
Hotel. They ’ll give you a little bit to eat. 


TRAVEL TROUBLES 


109 


Jess. I won’t interrupt you any more, if you will just tell 
me how to get to my destination. 

Less. You better be keerful how you start callin’ me them 
names again, too, then. 

Jess. I will. Tell me how to go to the Bivens Hotel. 

Less. Well, you go three blocks East. [Points and awaits 
reply from Jess.] 

Jess. Yes. 

Less. Three blocks East and take the left hand. [Gestures 
with his left hand.] 

Jess [imitating Less]. Three blocks East and take the left 
hand. Then what ? 

Less. Go one block North [points North] and take the right 
hand. [Gestures in same manner as before.] 

Jess. One block North and take the right hand. Then what 
do I do? 

Less. Why, hold your nose. You’ll be even with the glue 
factory. 

Jess. Why don’t you stick to your subject ? 

Less. Well, you’ll stick to any subject you touch, if you 
don’t hurry on past that glue factory. 

Jess. How far is it from the glue factory to the Bivens 
Hotel? 

Less. Oh, it’s just a sticky second’s walk. 

Jess. Are they in sight of each other? 

Less. And in smell, too. They’re right next door to each 
other. 

Jess. Next door to each other? I fail to understand that. 

Less. Why, that means they’re built side by side with no 
other building between them. 

Jess. Oh, of course I know what you mean; but why on 
earth did they ever put a glue factory next door to a 
hotel ? 

Less. Why, to make glue, of course. 

Jess. But it seems to me that a hotel with such an atmos¬ 
phere, so to speak, would lose all of its trade and be 
forced out of business. 

Less. Mebbe so; but they’re stickin’ right to it. 


110 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


Jess. What is on the other side of the Bivens Hotel ? 

Less. A bank. 

Jess. Oh, a bank. Is it a State Bank or a National Bank ? 

Less. Neither one. 

Jess. Neither one ? Why it must be a Trust Bank, then. 

Less. No, it ain’t no Trust Bank neither. 

Jess. Then what kind of a bank is it ? 

Less. It’s a clay bank. 

Jess. Oh, I see. 

Less. No, you can’t see it, either. Nobody sees it till 
they’re right onto it, nearly. 

Jess. Is it very steep ? 

Less. Straight up and down’s all. 

Jess. And high? 

Less. ’Bout fifteen feet. 

Jess. I should think that would be dangerous. I suppose 
there is a sign up to warn people, though. 

Less. Well, there was one; but it stayed up over a year 
and nobody fell off th’ bank, so I didn’t see no use of it 
an ’ took it down this mornin ’. 

Jess. Does this bank have any particular name? 

Less. Well, sometimes I call it “The Business Boom.” 

Jess. That’s a rather peculiar name, isn’t it? 

Less. Well, not considerin’. 

Jess. Considering what ? 

Less. Doc Bennet’s office is at th’ bottom of it. 

Jess. But you just said that for the past year, no one has 
fallen down the bank. 

Less. That’s why Doc hired me t’ take th’ sign down, I 
reckin. 

Jess. I suppose, then, that this Doctor friend of yours is 
quite capable of pulling a patient right out of death’s 
very door. 

Less. Yeah, sometimes, though, he pulls ’em through one 
way, and some times the other. 


CURTAIN 


COMIC RECITATIONS 

TASTES 

For a small girl. 

Boys like a hound dog. 

I like a cat. 

Boys are all silly. 

Some are too fat. 

UNCLE FUDGE 

When Uncle Fudge comes, he takes me on his knee 
And jolts me up and down till I can hardly see. 

He lets me pull his whiskers and never seems to care; 
But I must never mention a thing about his hair— 

For once an Indian, fierce and wild and big, 

Scalped Uncle Fudge, so he must wear a wig. 

A PERTINENT QUESTION 

Do you remember, sweet, my sweet, a magic woodland way 
That throbbed beneath our dancing feet one far-gone, golden 
day? 

Do you ever dream of the budding trees and the limpid, 
shining sky, 

Or the faintly perfumed summer breeze that sighed as we 
said good-by? 

Do you remember how the pathway ran? Pray wire me, if 
you do, 

For I want to show another man the path I showed to you. 
SWEEPIN’ OUT 

Now, down at our house, when ma gets th’ broom 
An ’ starts with a vim t ’ sweep out th ’ room, 

You jest as well hike, right then an’ there, 

’Less you want t 9 get strangled in th ’ dusty air! 


. Ill 


112 


CHILDKEN’S COMEDIES 




If pa, he’s a-readin’ an’ a-smokin’ his pipe, 

Ma jest comes along an ’ makes a big swipe 
An’ says kinda snappy, “Move yer big feet.” 

Pa looks at Ma an ’ moves his whole seat. 

But he mutters an’ grumbles an’ says kinda low 
Th’ name uv a place he wants Ma t’ go. 

But he don’t say it loud, ’cause Ma’s got th’ broom 
An’ he’d ruther she’d use it t’ sweep out th’ room. 

A RAINY DAY 

Talkin ’ ’ bout th ’ rain, I like it just fine; 

You can have lots of fun, if the sun don’t shine. 

If it’s just pourin’ down till you can’t go out, 

That’s no reason to whine or pout. 

Just look around—find something to do. 

Did you ever make kitty a paper shoe ? 

Try that some day when the skies are dark. 

I think you’ll agree, it’s a nice little lark. 

Or look at the pictures in a story-book, 

Or go in the kitchen an ’ watch yer ma cook, 

Or write where you’ve breathed on the window pane. 
I ’ll tell you again, I like the rain. 

ACCOUNTING FOR MY LACK OF TASTE 

Across the street, there is a girl 
Who loves to play and sing; 

And oft at night when I would sleep. 

She makes the welkin ring 
By banging on the ivory keys 
Or letting out a shriek. 

No harm she means, this neighbor lass— 

She hears no ill intent, 

But practices an hour or so 
To soothe an inborn bent 
Which makes of her a slave to art. 

(She seeks thus fame to seek.) 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


113 


She plays quite well (or so they say) 

And has a wondrous throat; 

My friends and hers sit rapt in church 
To hear her ev’ry note. 

But then, you see, she sings and plays 
For them, just once a week. 

THE WHOOPING COUGH 

My big sis has got—I really ought not tell— 

But anyhow she’s got it—has had it quite a spell. 

She’s got something that she can’t laugh off— 

Don’t know where she got it—she’s got the whoopin’ cough. 

An’ she’s a great big girl—you all know my sis— 

Thinks she’s nearly grown, so don’t tell that I told this; 

For sis is tryin’ to keep this still. I found out 

She don’t want Jim Jones to know it. Think I’ll shout, 

“Hey there, Jim, you simp, you better watch your step! 
Keep f oolin ’ ’roun ’ sis, an ’ you ’ll lose all yer pep. ’ ’ 

But then I guess I won’t; just let ’im go. 

I’m not s’posed to tell him ever’thing I know. 

Huh! There they went—sis an’ Jim Jones, now. 

I’d describe their actions but I don’t know how. 

Can’t tell you, either, what I seen ’em do— 

But purty soon Jim’s gonna be whoopin’ too. 

TEACHER’S PET 

Our teacher has a little pet 
Whom teacher likes quite well; 

For everything that teacher asks 
The pet is sure to tell. 

If some one puts a tack or pin 
Upon the teacher’s chair, 

He ne’er escapes a whipping good, 

If “pet” is standing there. 


114 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


April Fool may roll around 

With teacher’s downfall planned; 

But plans are sure to go astray 
If “pet” is taking a hand. 

In every school there is some one 
(As onery as they get) 

Who loses all his self respect 
And makes a teacher’s pet. 

But one thing sure—as sure as fate, 
There’s not on record yet 

A single famous person 

Who admits being “teacher’s pet.” 

And I hope that Saint Peter, 

When he has any crowns to let, 

Will consider everything 

And not give any to “teacher’s pet.’ 

WHEN POP SHAVES 

When Pop starts to shave, 

He gets his water hot, 

(And burns both his hands 
To get it, apt as not.) 

Then he broadcasts a call 
With a loud-sounding yelp, 

To the rest of the house 
That he requires some help. 

Ma must bring a towel, 

Sis, the razor and hone; 

He c’n find his strop— 

We leave it alone. 

I bring mug and brush. 

He lathers up his face 
And gets soap in his eyes, 

Then charges ’round the place. 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


115 


The towel ’round his neck, 

He’ll holler and cuss 
Till the neighbors wonder 
What’s causing the fuss. 

Finally Ma grabs him 
And wipes his eyes clear; 

But he says, “ Clumsy, 

Git outa th’ way, here.” 

Then we all leave him 
Alone at his job, 

Hearing from the next room 
Him grunt, swear and sob. 

We scarcely dare to move 
Or walk across the floor 
For fear he’ll cut his throat 
And blame us evermore. 

At last he reappears 
Looking like sin— 

For he’s hacked up his jaw 
And nicked up his chin. 

Lather still in his ears, 

All dried-up, sorter; 

But he says he’s done well 
And saved a whole quarter. 

A BUG BATTLE 

A big, black beetle 

And another not so large, 
Engaged in a conflict 

Over who should man the barge 
On which both were floating 
’Cross a sea uncommon ill. 

(The barge was but a biscuit— 
The sea, a pail of swill.) 


116 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


The waters raged and foamed, 

For the battle waxed so hot. 

The Big Bug said, “I’m Captain.’’ 

The Wee Bug said, “You’re not. ,, 
The Big Bug’s proboscis 
Inflicted quite a wound 
On the thorax of the Wee Bug; 

But Wee Bug held his ground. 


Then Wee Bug feinted, 

His antagonist dodged; 

But several heavy blows 

On his complex-lens were lodged. 
Both of them clinching, 

They tumbled off the raft, 

Only to scramble back 

While the watching cook laughed. 


To the barge they clung in terror, 
For the sea and shore both lifted! 
In the hands of the cook, 

Toward the pig-sty they drifted. 
The motion being gentle 

They remembered their feud; 

So, with all their former fury, 
Hostilities renewed. 


They hammered and they clamored, 
They fought with might and main; 
Though neither one the victory 
Could clearly seem to gain. 

Finally at the pig-sty 

Their whole world seemed to fall 
And a big, hungry porker 

Swallowed barge, bugs and all. 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


117 


DID YOU? 

Did you ever start home, all alone, after night, 

Down a long, lonesome road, without any light, 

With the moon just moping and the stars all asleep, 

While the tree frog’s croak made your very flesh creep? 


When the hoot owls holloed and with wings the boughs 
smote, 

Did a big heavy lump rise up in your throat 
That you tried hard to swallow but couldn’t quite get, 

For it took all your effort to keep, your lips wet ? 


Did you lightly step, then, with scarcely a glance 
At all the weird figures as they seemed to dance 
Just beside the roadway and among the trees? 
Did you somehow feel rather weak in the knees? 


If a low-hanging branch, cold and wet with the dew, 
Slapped you right in the face, did your mind race through 
All the misdeeds and wrongs of your previous life, 

As a sailor rushes home to his long-waiting wife ? 


When to whistle you tried and your tongue clove fast, 

So that all you produced was a sharp, dry blast, 

Did it cause you to shudder as it joined with the sound 
Of your too loud footsteps striking hard on the ground? 


Did you feel a great ease come to rest on your soul, 
When at last you had reached your own threshold 
And you felt the deep warmth of your own good bed, 
With the cover pulled up to hide your whole head ? 


Now did you ? 


118 CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 

WHY IS IT? 

When a boy meets a boy 
He holds his head clear, 
Throws out his chest, 

In his eyes a leer; 

Says “Yeah” for “Yes,” 
And “Nope” for “No,” 
Not in the least 

Embarrassed or slow. 


When this boy meets a man, 
He holds his head high, 
Squares his shoulders, 

Keeps a steady eye; 

Says “Yes, sir,” “No, sir,” 
As smooth as ice; 

“Thank you” and “Please,” 
Respectful and nice. 


The same boy meets a girl— 
He lets his head droop, 

His eyes falter, 

His shoulders stoop; 

His fingers, all thumbs, 

Try to fasten his shirt; 

He says not a word 

But digs his toe in the dirt. 


Though he’d rather look well 
In her eyes than any, 

His very concern 
Makes him a ninny. 

She giggles—he grins 
And looks at his boot. 

She walks on thinking, 
“Ain’t Johnny cute?” 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


119 


A CHANGE OF HABITS 

“Ef I’s to git married,” said ole stingy Peter Kline, 

“I ’spect I’d have to mend up on a few ways o’ mine. 

Thar comes my chawin’ terbaccer—I guess it’d have to go; 

Though I’m sure I’ll miss it awful bad—wuss’n anything, 
I know. 

Nigh onto forty long years, as th’ ’Samist David ’d say, 

Hit has been to me a staff to comfort an’ sof’en th’ way. 

Yep, I’ll miss my chawin’ men. 

“But I’m a reas’nin’ feller, an’ I think I’m willin’ t’ ’low 

Ef I ever do quit chawin,’ it’s time t’ c’mence right now. 

Thar’s not but very few wimmin that still hangs onter the ’r 
snuff; 

So fer me t ’ drop my wust failin ’ is only fair enuf. 

An’ so I’m gonna brace right up—I’ll s’prise some folks 
purty soon. 

To Widder Green I’ll go right now. We’ll prob’ly marry 
by June. 

Yep, I’ll quit my chawin’ then. 

“ ’N ’en ’ere’s my coon dogs—they ’d mos’ likely cause some 
rows, 

Fer they ain’t no dogs don’t ’casion’ly come in the house. 

Course, thar’s whar mine’s useter eatin’—I think a heap o’ 
my dogs, 

’N’ I’ve built ’em a nice, warm, sleepin’ place, right under 
the floor, with logs 

’At I cut an’ hewed with keer t’ inshore my dogs’d all rest 
well. 

But it may not suit Missis Green—ye never kin def’nitely 
tell. 

So I’ll roust 'my doggies’ pen. 

“ ’Mongst my habits thar’s others that I’d plainly have ter 
quit, 

Sich as growin’ long toe-nails an’ sich like—not quite fit. 

But that’s rale simple t ’ doctor—I ’ll eas ’ly han ’le that. 


120 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


So I’ll jes’ go down t’ Missis Green’s—wait’ll I git my hat. 
Jest wait a while, will ye, till I visit Missis Green? 

I’ll tell ye when I git back what th’ future’ll mean. 

Yep, I calkerlate ter win. 

{Exit briefly, then enter again slowly.) 

“Well, I reckon, peepul, ’tain’t a bit o’ useter try 
T’ quit my chawin’—I couldn’t, ef I knowed I’d die. 

An’ as fer my coon doggies—somehow I’d never feel jest 
right 

Ef I throwed my doggies out ’thout any place t’ sleep at 
night. 

It’s jest too much t’ ’spect, frien’s, fer a man as old as I be 
To change his ways fer a skirt—hit shore don’t ’peal to me— 
She jest went by with ole Jim Flynn. 


RUSTIC COURTSHIP 

I ’ll tell ye a story uv my pa and ma 

And o’ course it all happened down in Arkansaw. 

I ain’t sayin’ it’s so, fer I wuzn’t there— 

An ’ ef Pa knowed I tole it, he’d shore pull my hair. 

You see, it wuz this way: My Pa and my Ma 
Useter live close together, down in Arkansaw, 
An’ Pa got stuck on Ma’s purty face. 

So that’s how it come they got up sich a case. 

Now Pa he wuz awkward an’ clumsy an’ green, 
An’ th’ bashfuliest feller that ever wuz seen; 

But Ma, she wuz witty an’ had lots t’ say, 

An ’ it tickled her lots ’cause Pa acted that way. 

’Course they seed each other ever’ once in a while 
An’ Pa he’d grin an’ Ma she’d smile. 

An’ Ma’d say, “Howdy?” an’ start t’ go by 
A lookin’ at Pa kinda outa one eye. 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


121 


But o’ course my Pa jest couldn’t stand that, 

So he’d try t’ bow an’ take off his hat. 

Then Ma, she’d ast, “What did you say?” 

An’ Pa wuz so bashful he wouldn’t look that way. 


But Ma’d come back close as she c’d git 
An’ Pa he’d blush an’ nearly have a fit. 
’Nen she’d pucker her lips so sweet 
An’ Pa’d just stan’ an’ look at ’is feet. 


Now Pa loved Ma an’ soon knowed it, 

An’ she loved him, but she never had showed it. 

So things went along in about th’ same way 
Till they run right together at th’ spring one day. 


Well, Pa wuz stooped over th’ hole in th’ ground 
When up come Ma, not makin ’ a sound. 

An’ as he dipped up ’is water, quick as a flash, 
Ma gave ’im a push—Oh, what a splash! 


‘ ‘ Howdy ? ” sez Ma—Pa never said a word, 

But sich puffin’ and blowin’ there never wuz heard, 
As he dim ’ed up th ’ bank with a unflinchin ’ eye 
An’ started for Ma, who wuz still standin’ by. 


She started t’ run, but it weren’t no use, 

Fer he caught ’er new apern an ’ wouldn’t turn loose. 
So she clawed an’ she pulled till out Pa come 
An’ his face wuz as red as a ripe, round plum. 


Th’ rest uv th’ story is easy t’ see, 

Fer that’s how come sich a person as me. 

But there’s one thing Gran’ma don’t know till yet— 
That’s how Ma got ’er apern so wet. 


122 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


MY BROTHER’S SWEETIE 

My big brother, he’s in love an’ he carries on worse’n if 
he’d et a bait o’ green apples. Y’ jest orter hear ’im, some¬ 
times, a-ravin’ ’bout his Angel Child an’ Fluffy Duffy an’ 
ever’thing else sick’nin’ he'c’n think of, I reckin. It’s 
enough t’ make a dog sick t’ hear him talkin’ in ’is sleep, 
too. 

He says he wants t’ hurry up an’ git grown, so’s he c’n 
settle down an’ marry. An’ he’s all time talkin’ t’ Pa ’bout 
’is prospec’s an’ th’ outlook fer th’ future. Judgin’ from 
th’ way he ac’s now, I’d guess he wuz goin’ in th’ sugar 
an’ molasses bizness. That orter jest suit ’im, fer from th’ 
way he talks, ’is Angel Child is so sweet she’s sticky. 

I can’t see nuthin’ great nor wonderful ’bout ’er, though, 
myself. She jest looks like a little snub-nosed, stringy- 
headed, spoilt girl, t’ me. She has got ’er hair bobbed an’ 
she keeps it frizzed up like a half-picked chicken that’d 
been dropped in th’ fire. She uses loud p’fume an’ th’ 
powder and paint she puts on at one time would fix up a 
Sioux Indian warrior. 

My brother thinks ’is girl c’n sing, but I don’t. I jest as 
soon hear a mangy dog a-howlin ’. But y ’ cain’t say nuthin ’ 
t’ him about ’er. Why, once I jest said I thought she wuz 
wall-eyed, an’ he got so mad, he c’d ’a’ beat me soft, but 
he couldn’t ketch me. I don’t keer, though, if he does git 
mad an’ tell mamma an’ anything else he wants to. I 
don’t think she’s a bit purty an’ I’ll tell ’im so again. 

I told ’im once I wouldn’t hold ’er hand. W’y, I’d jest 
as soon nuss a sick kitten. Pa says t’ jest let ’em alone, 
that they both jest got a dose uv puppy love. But I say it’s 
worse’n that, an’ you’d say so, too, if you’d seen what I 
did. Why, once I slipped on ’em when they didn’t know 
anybody’s ’round, an’ th’ way they acted ’minded me o’ 
young calves lickin’ an’ slobberin’. 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


123 


SIZIN’ UP THE CROWD 

G’d ev’nin’, folkses. How be all of ye, anyway? I’m 
fair t’ middlin’, I reckin, but I didn’t git all th’ supper I 
wanted, ’cause I wuz in sich a hurry t’ git up here an’ see 
who all had already come I wouldn’t wait fer ma t’ cook, 
but jest grabbed a bite an’ run. I see some more here, too, 
that looks like they’d jest grabbed somethin’ an’ rim. 

But then I guess all in all, you’re a purty nice-lookin’ 
crowd, if some uv th’ boys ain’t got their hair combed. I 
see some uv th’ wimmen, too—now you all here in front 
needn’t t’ look back, but I see some uv th’ wimmin that I 
bet if they knowed jest how their hair looked, wouldn’t be 
satisfied with it. Some uv th’ girls ain’t got th’ powder on 
their faces straight, either. Gosh, it had shore better not 
rain before they git home. If it does, they ’ll need a rollin ’ 
pin t’ smooth down th’ dough on their necks. 

I see they’s several married people here to-night—an’ 
a lot more that’d like t’ be. Well, I’ll say. No, I reckin 
it’s jest a bald-headed man. I thought at first it wuz th’ 
moon a-risin’. 

An’ looka there, would ye? There’s a man with a mus¬ 
tache. He looks like he’d swallowed a mule an’ tha’s his 
tail a-stickin’ out. If I had a mustache like that, you 
know what I’d do? I’d cut it off and use it fer a blackin’ 
brush. You c’n jest bet, if I’s a womern, I never would 
marry a man with a mustache. No, sir. Ugh, I jest couldn’t 
stand t’ have my lips tickled. I’d mighty nigh ruther be 
an ole maid than t ’ marry a man with a mustache. 

But I’ll tell y’ right now, I shore wouldn’t want t’ be 
no ole maid, nor ole bachelor either. If I had charge uv 
things, I tell y’ what I’d do. I’d gather up all th’ ole 
maids, an’ ole bachelors, an’ toad frogs, an’ stingin’ lizards, 
an’ so on, an’ I’d hire a whole lot uv one-eyed niggers that 
jest could tell where they’s a-goin’ an’ nuthin’ about what 
they’s a-doin’, an I’d have them t’ carry all uv ’em off 
an ’ dump ’em in some big desert. I bet they’d be some fun 


124 


CHILDREN'S COMEDIES 


when the toad frogs begin t’ grumble an’ the ole maids 
got their stingers out an ’ stung th ’ ole bachelors an ’ th ’ ole 
bachelors started dodgin’ th’ ole maids—aw, I mean when 
th’ ole lizards begin t’ hop, not th’ ole maids—aw, I’m all 
mixed up an’ I’m gonna sit down. 


PA’S 

Pa’s air funny fellers; that is, sometimes they air funny 
an’ other times they are not so funny. I think it’s awful 
funny how ever’ one uv ’em got by when they’s little boys 
an’ was reg’lar angels. To hear some uv ’em talk, they 
musta been better’n th’ average angel. 

The mystery to me, though, is how ever they, the very 
same pa’s, bring up such bad little boys of their own. 
But, according to what Ma says, though, they ain’t none 
uv ’em no benefit, except to keep all the little boys from 
bein’ orphans. She says Pa is jest about as useful as a wart 
on a snake’s hip bone. 

He may not be very useful, but he shore is handy. He 
has got the biggest hand I ever saw, I believe. He nearly 
lifts me off the floor, sometimes. His foot is no midget, 
either. He never has any trouble finding his shoes. They ’re 
easy enough to be seen. 

Pa says he’s the head uv th ’ family, an ’ he says that I’m 
just a chip off the old block. I guess, according to that, he 
must be the blockhead. An’ talkin’ about heads, I know a 
boy’s Pa who ain’t got no more hair on his head than a 
chigger. An’ that shore ain’t much, is it? This feller wuz 
at one time a great beef-eater an ’ he had to put a hot iron 
on his head to melt the taller out uv th’ roof of his mouth, 
so that singed all the hair off, too. 

When I get grown, I’m gonna hire me a nigger an’ name 
him Pa. Then ever’ time he turns aroun’ or looks cross¬ 
eyed, I’ll holler “don’t” at ’im, or land on ’im with a 
shingle or razor strop. I bet I shore can think uv a thousan’ 
an’ one Tomfool things to send ’im after or tell ’im to do, 


COMIC RECITATIONS 


125 


too. I’d have to go some, though, to git ahead uv some pa’s 
I know, when it comes to makin’ life miserable fer their 
boys. 

But ever’ thing about a pa is not so bad as you might 
think. Ef they hadn’t a-been no pa’s, some little girl 
would ’a’ had to missed gittin’ a mighty fine husband 
(meanin’ me) an’ if they wuzn’t no pa’s, the ma’s ’d all 
run out of somebody t’ talk about an’ blame things on. 
One thing, before I close, that I want to say: If ever I git 
to be a pa, I won’t make my little boy wear my ole, wore- 
out britches, an’ I’ll jest ketch ’im all th’ June bugs he 
wants. 

A COMPLAINT 

I’ve got a complaint to make to you folks and I want you 
to listen till I get through, too. I’m no lawyer, nor any¬ 
thing of the kind, and I may not be very smart, but I have 
got sense enough to know when I’m not treated right. And 
another thing—I don’t have to be knocked down before I 
know that I’m about to get hit. 

But what I want to complain about is being the middle 
child of the family. It may not do any good to complain 
and I don’t know exactly who is to blame about it, but 
I just catch it on all sides. I’m the middle child of the 
family, so I’m just big enough to run errands by myself 
and just small enough to crawl under places and get things. 
I’m just old enough to have to go to school and still young 
enough to have to say my prayers. 

I’m the only one in our family that does say any prayers, 
too. My big sis is too near grown and has to put in too 
much time thinking of her beau. Baby brother is too little 
to learn them. Mamma’s always too tired, when she gets 
ready to go to bed. Pa has rheumatism and can’t bend 
over, so there it is! I have to say prayers for the whole 
outfit. I reckon, if I should die, they’d be in a mess. I 
guess I’d have to speak to old Saint Peter, when they came 
on up, so they could all get in out of the weather. 


126 


CHILDREN’S COMEDIES 


And when company comes, being the middle child, I 
always must wait at dinner time. Sis is so nigh to being 
grown that she must sit at the table and help to entertain 
the company. Of course Sammy gets to eat—he’s the baby. 
But I—I just get what’s left, that’s all. Why, ’twas only 
by an accident, the other day, that I found out a chicken 
had anything but a neck. I’m abused a sight. 

When there’s any place to go that the whole family can’t 
go, I don’t have to tell you who gets left at home. I’m too 
little to hang onto the fender, but too big to sit in some 
one’s lap. I can’t even play with the boy that lives by our 
house. He’s got a billy goat I’d like to help break, but no 
—Ma says I’m too little to do anything like that, but Pa 
says that I’m too big to cry because I can’t. 

I don’t know what I’ll do. There’s one thing, though, 
that I know. That is, that if ever I have three children 
and the middle one is a boy, I’ll let him go any place he 
wants to and he won’t have to do a lick of work. I’ll let 
him sit up as late as he likes and every few days I’ll buy 
him about a barrel of candy, nuts, and so on. I think 
Congress or Henry Ford or somebody ought to make a law 
to protect all of the middle boys. Don’t you? 

STEVE ON THE TELEPHONE 

Halo! halo! Halo, Ay say! Ah, halo! How you bane ? 
Vat number do Ay vant? Veil, vat numbers have you got? 
Ah, Ay see. You vant me to gif you de number. Veil, 
how can Ay gif it to you ven Ay ain’t got it myselluf ? Ah, 
Ay see, you vant to know who is it Ay bane vant. Veil, Ay 
vant de doctore. De doctore. De man vat gif de pill an’ 
(say, 4 ‘Sthick out your tongue.” Yah, yah. Oh, Ay dunno. 
Yust any of ’em, Ay guess. Yust so he’s a doctore. 

Ah, halo, doctore! Halo—you not de doctore? Veil, vy 
in de heck you bane sthick up yerself in de doctore’s place ? 
Ah, Ay see, you not de doctore, yust de doctore’s vife. 
Veil, den, Meesus doctore’s vife, ven your pill driver hoos- 
ban he coom home, Ay vant you bane tell ’im right quick 


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to coom soon in a hurry to my house, vere Ay haf bane lif 
ten years already yet in de same place, an ’ bring hees tools, 
but leaf hees appytite for Ay ain’t got no more cider like 
Ay had las’ time he coom. Vat? You don’ tink you kin 
tell heem vat Ay say? Veil, vy cain’t ye? Ain’t you bane 
speakin’ mit ’im now? You cain’t said it' all? Ah, heck, 
[ slowly , with emphasis] you tell your hoosban, ven he coom 
back, to coom hees selluf to Steve Svindstrom’s an Ay pay 
heem before he leafs wit hard cash, by goom. 

Veil, Ay guess hees ’sposed to fin’ out vat’s de matter 
is, ven he cooms. Dat’s vat Ay bane payin’ heem for. 

Veil, den, if you yust got to know, my brudder, he bane 
kickt mit a mool. Mool, moot, vat say 4 ‘ah-ee-ah-ee,” an’ 
ain’t got no sense, like a doctore’s vife. Bane kickt mit 
’im. Yah. Naw, dat mool he ain’t seeck, Ay tell ye it’s 
bane my brudder. He bane kickt mit ’im. Yah. In der 
head, by goom. He don’ vas dun nuthin’, but try to put 
de crupper under dat mod’s tail, ven Ay bane tell ’im 
not to already before. 

Veil, dat mool yust lif hees foot up an put it against my 
brudder an’ shove, an’ my brudder, vere vas he? Vy 
novere’s, only ofer in der fodder stack on his eyebrows. 
Yaw, he hollered. Is he up—vat you say? Ay dunno 
vether hee’s talkin’ mit sense or mitout ’em, but Ay tink 
dat it must be mitout, fer dat mool ’bout kickt ’em out hees 
sense. 

Ah, you say, here cooms your hoosban. Veil, here cooms 
my vife, too, already yet. Veil, den, hitch ’im onto me, 
der doctore. 

Halo, doctore! Ya, dis is me, Steve Swindstrom. Ya, my 
brudder, he haf been kickt mit a—Vat it is yo say, Kata¬ 
rina? Ah, all right, den nefer mind, doctore, ve von’t 
need you now, hees dun quit hurtin ’ already yet. Naw, he 
don’ hurt heem none at all, now. Naw, he bane kickt mit 
a mool in der eyebrow, but Ay guess ve safe der doctore’s 
bill, an’ pay it on der funeral. Goo’-bye. 














I 





















